Of Reluctant Allies (The 9 and 1 Rule For Survival and Friends Making)
by AnikaAnn
Summary: In which Dean and Sam meet the Devil who may care and his little sister who may not be his little sister, everyone has a fake alias and bleeds too much, Claire is not amused and Matt should probably admit that this time, he is actually way over his head. More or less in that order. Sam's POV. SPN S5, DD post-S1. (Loosely follows my 'Damned If I Do', works as a standalone as well)
1. Rule 1

**1\. Don't piss off the baristas (they hold power over your caffeine levels)**

„Is there anything hot on the menu apart from you?" Sam heard and couldn't help rolling his eyes, giving Dean _the look_. The look saying _I'm so done, you're not my brother_ and _I'm gonna kill you one day_ without a single word.

Sam and Dean arrived to New York yesterday – following a case, naturally. There had already been three victims of presumed animal attacks, all of them having one significant feature according to the autopsy reports; a missing heart. They hadn't seen the bodies yet, but if the reports were true, they had a werewolf on their hands.

From what Sam read, New York's Hell's Kitchen was a place where lots of shitty things (as Dean would put it) were happening, the crime rate high even for such a large city as New York. Corruption. Kidnappings. Human trafficking. Murders. Bombings. None of these events pointed to anything supernatural though – ' _monsters I get, people are crazy'_ (actually one of the rare wise lines that had ever left Dean's mouth). It would be a freaking paradise for demons who would enjoy the suffering of local people. Yet, it was the case of _werewolves_ what had brought the brothers here.

Sure, there was another catch. The catch that was wearing a black tight outfit and a mask, was running around at night and supposedly was saving lives. Sam would be almost excited about the vigilante figure, only if he wouldn't have had the weirdest name – the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. He might laugh it off if it was few years earlier, but now, discovering angels were after his brother and one very deeply fallen angel was after him, it seemed like a stupid idea to willingly move closer to a creature that was being called the Devil.

They had done it anyway.

Sam had checked – he had read the reports, he had seen the pictures, he had watched the security footages. There was nothing indicating that the vigilante was anything but a very capable human. When he was shot, he bled. When he was punched, he held himself like he was hurt, at least after the fight was over. His moves were gracious, but his punches didn't seem to be _supernaturally_ strong or fast. He was just a man. But then again, the greatest trick the devil had ever pulled was convincing the world he had noted exist. Sam didn't feel good about this.

Finding a motel in the area that seemed to targeted the most, staying up late (Sam to reread the police files, Dean to…whatever he was doing, _hunting_ in a bar), Dean now demanded another morning coffee despite already having one. But Sam understood – if he had Vienna sausage with scrambled eggs and burger as a side dish for breakfast, he would need more caffeine too.

So they found a small café with a quite fitting name (My Daily Dose of Caffeine), several people standing in the line in front of them, providing them enough time to choose. There were three girls behind the counter, all shooting smiles, some honest, some fake. Sam liked it here though – the space was warm, homey, and the baristas tried if anything. The choice was wide enough and Sam chose caramel latté, well-aware he might need a lot of sugar that day.

Their server was a black-haired girl, taller than the others, with a smile that looked natural, honest, the kind that made people to return the gesture just _because_. Of course, his brother, who needed to flirt with everything that moved, tried out one of his favourite lines. Her cheeks blushed furiously, gaze lowering to the counter shyly and Sam groaned internally. _Really, Dean? This one again?_

The girl – Vera, as the nametag read – surprised them both when she looked up again, one corner of her lips raised. "I'm sorry, sir. I was taken away from the menu a while ago. I suggest you to choose something else. Would you like me to read it out loud for you? It's no trouble."

Sam grinned widely and eyed his brother who was totally taken aback by the lack of her response. That girl was Sam's new heroine. He was leaving her a huge tip, no matter Dean was paying.

Dean got it together and leaned onto the counter slightly, apparently encouraged by her boldness. She simply took a step back and turned to face Sam.

"Until your… friend makes up his mind, would you please tell me your choice?" she asked politely, the other corner of her lip twitching as Dean's smug smile faded.

"Uhm…"

"The lady will have caramel latté," Dean grumbled, standing up straight again, "and I'll have Americano."

Sam rolled his eyes, too amused by Dean's lack of success to be annoyed by the comment about his hair.

The girl smiled at him professionally, ignoring the comment as well. "Size? Here or to go?"

"The biggest one, trust me. To go cups, but here? There is a lovely view," he tilted his head, striking again and the girl's eyes flickered to the window before she understood what he meant. She bit the inside of her cheek.

"Sure thing. It's six fifty… Thank you, coming right up." If she was thrown off balance, Sam didn't really notice.

She spun on her heels and started preparing their order. Sam poked Dean to move left to make a space for next customers. His brother was too busy watching the girl's butt with too much interest (Sam checked shortly and he felt him, alright, but it was like really rude). When she turned around to face them again, cups in her hands, she saw it. She took a deep breath. She seemed to be slightly irritated now.

„Any names?" she demanded, still with an admirable calm, talking rather to Sam then his ass brother though.

„Sure. Americano for David Mason and latté for his baby sister Nicki," Dean exclaimed and Sam raised his eyes to the ceiling, pleading God to give him strength to deal with this creation calling himself his brother.

The girl nodded several times as she wrote the names and hesitated before placing the cups on the counter. She took one of them and added a note – Sam couldn't believe it. She _did_ give up to Dean's obvious flirting in the end. His sympathies slowly faded away as she smiled at Dean, handing him his coffee. Sam had to take his own by himself. Dean grinned smugly again and winked at her. Her smile widened.

"Thank you for choosing MDDC and enjoy your coffee. Have a nice day!"

They headed to one of the tables not far from the counter, Sam sighing. "I can't believe you. And she seemed to resist! Dammit!"

His brother just shrugged innocently, sitting at the table, putting his coffee down. "You know the drill, Sammy. Some people are just meant to get laid…"

Sam, sitting down as well, noticed there was no phone number on Dean's cup. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back, his gaze flickering to the counter once more. The girl was watching them contentedly, giving Sam a small wave, as another girl, with bright orange hair, poked her ribs beckoning their direction.

" _Oh god_ ," he let out between his laugh, trying to calm down his panting.

Dean looked confused. "What? _What?!"_ he demanded, examining the cup as well. His face fell. He snapped up his head to the girl's direction as well, but she was already serving another customer. _"Son of a_ — you gotta be kidding me."

She hadn't written her phone number. No. The cup read _**David**_ __ _ **Get-over-yourself**_ __ _ **Mason**_.

…

They agreed on hitting the precinct together first, then the morgue and witnesses, perhaps separated, depending on the amount of them – as far as Sam read, there were none. There was no one who would tell them what they had seen, but they might luck out, overhearing something when at the police station.

They were finishing their coffee, the café almost empty now, when Sam realized his brother was staring, not really listening to him as he was summing up the basic info about the victims. Annoyed, he turned the direction Dean was looking. He was observing the girl behind the counter, the one who had turned him down, talking to another customer. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I mean, can you believe her?" he exclaimed, outraged.

Sam looked closer, examining, and realized that the girl's body language was screaming one single thing – attraction. He couldn't see much of the man she was talking to apart from his height – about Dean's, perhaps a little shorter –, relatively strong built, slacks that probably belonged to a business suit, its upper part hidden under a coat. He thought he glimpsed a white cane with red stripe in his hands – if he was right, the man was blind. Which was a shame, because the girl was smiling softly, cute, slightly leaning in, eyes lowering at something he said.

"Seriously? A blind dude?! She turned me down because she has a crush on a blind dude?" Dean continued, face somewhere between offended and baffled.

Sam felt bad for watching the poor pair so closely, but he enjoyed his brother's ego hurting. He needed it. Funnily enough, as if 'the blind dude' could hear them, he leaned onto the counter, whispering something to her ear.

"It doesn't look like she has a crush on him, he seems to be quite on board too," Sam noted just in time to see the girl giggle and _let_ the man kiss her. On her mouth. Quite enthusiastically. Sam looked away, not wanting to intrude. "If you're asking me. I wouldn't kiss anyone like that in case I wasn't."

Dean's expression was gold and he hid his grumpy grimace behind his empty cup, the note on it sticking out. Sam couldn't help grinning again.

"Shut up, _bitch_."

"Just saying. _Jerk_."


	2. Rule 2

**2\. Don't ask if you don't want to know (better yet, don't ask at all)**

They entered the 15th precinct around half past ten. Looking around, they found the front desk that would probably intimidate people coming in, the officer behind it being slightly above them; but not the Winchesters, especially not Sam. The person behind the desk only could be called a kid; bright blue eyes and blond hair, boyish face, fresh from academy most likely, which was good. Only behind the desk though, because they needed someone trustful to get in; later, they would appreciate some senior officer, because this kid would tell them nothing.

Officer Lesley as the nametag read proudly was astonished by the fact two FBI agents, all fancy suits and badges, talked to him, stuttered several times and obligingly promised them to get Sergeant Mahoney (thank god, a _sergeant_ ) in no time. It turned out that sergeant Mahoney was a black guy, good, but suspicious a little bit more than his younger colleague and just a little bit more than they needed.

"What were your names again?" he asked as he led them to room where they kept the files of cases in progress.

"David Mason, Nick Mason. No relation," Dean added with a twitch of his lips, perfectly calm while the cop's eyes flickered from one to another.

"Could have fooled me. You look familiar too…"

"I have one of those faces," Dean exclaimed almost cheerily and the man sighed.

"Whatever. There isn't much to go on, Agents. No witnesses – and truth to be told, I think that if there were any, they would be locked up in a mad house already. I saw some nasty things around here, believe me, but this? Six victims-"

"Six?" Sam blurted out, shocked. Six? They knew about three! How did they miss that? The amount had doubled!

"Yeah. Three more people were found just few hours ago. Or what was left of them anyway. What kind of a psycho steals the heart of his victim?" he questioned, disgusted and paled visibly, which was saying something.

Three more victims. _Shit_. They needed to take care of it. Tonight. But they had freaking nothing to go on.

"Where was it? Is the crime scene still approachable?" Sam wanted to know and Mahoney shook his head.

"It was quite in the centre, our boys took all evidence they could and cleaned that up as fast as was possible. I can give you the address if you want to check anyway," he offered, expression somewhat guilty.

"We would like to know all the locations, yeah. Thanks. Started a file yet?"

"I'll see what I can get." With those words, he disappeared, leaving the brothers to their own thoughts.

"Shit, Sam. What the hell? How many are there? There have to be at least two of them…"

"Young. Absolutely out of control. Yeah, I know. Missing persons? Maybe we can find out something more. I haven't found any connection among the victims yet, but the other victims might bring some light in. The lack of witnesses is a problem, it would help a lot…" he wondered, considering visiting the last crime scene, asking around – just because no one had said they had seen something, it didn't necessarily meant they really hadn't. Asking again was worth a shot.

"Well, we can always try. What's the plan? I hit the morgue, you come across this shittones of paper and then we ask around?"

Of course Dean didn't want to read. Not that Sam minded. He sure preferred it to burying his hand in human residues.

"Deal. Enjoy seeing your breakfast again."

Dean left, smirking, meeting the sergeant in the door with bewildered expression. "Oh, we decided to split, speed it up. He's heading to the morgue. These the files you were talking about?" Sam asked, voice polite as much he managed.

"Yeah. Sure. Here. If you need anything else…"

Sam asked about the missing persons files. Naturally, it was a dead end; last reported had been months ago. He fought the urge to bang his head against the table in frustration.

Dean called him he would be heading to the first crime scene, announcing that what he found in the morgue matched their expectations – werewolves. They better pack some extra silver bullets… if they actually knew _where_ to go.

Sam was lost. And when people were lost, they sometimes did stupid things. Like asking about vigilantes, their possible involvement et cetera.

"You want the files on the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?" Mahoney reassured himself, face sceptical.

"You don't think there might be a connection? I mean, no offence, but the guy seems kinda crazy, he might have snapped and switched sides…" Sam made up as he went, observing the officers' expression getting even more dubious. "Or, he might at least know something. He lurks out at night, taking down criminals – six brutal murders probably caught his eye."

 _That_ gained a batter reaction. Obviously, Sergeant Mahoney was on the side of the vigilante, which, _weird_ , Sam would guess he would be the exact opposite. Being a cop and all that...

"Well, I can give you the files, but there are lots of them. Yet, I don't really think you would make something from them. His appearances are completely random, people he saved aren't connected. What are you hoping to find? You wanna meet him or what?"

Sam snapped his head up, surprised. "There is a way to meet him?" he demanded, absolutely taken aback, hope rising in his chest. He would have to pray the Devil was indeed only a man though. Because facing Lucifer was something he did not wanted, something he feared from the bottom of his heart.

The officer laughed wholeheartedly, shaking his head. "Oh no. God no. That guy is a ghost. I met him few times, that's true… but mostly I just saw the aftermath."

Sam didn't bother to hide his disappointment. Yet another dead end. Just what he needed. He ran his hand down his face, desperate.

"There are whispers though. That he worked with Nelson and Murdock, local lawyers, who took down Wilson Fisk, big case, all over the papers, you might have heard of it, some of your guys arrested people involved..." the man said hesitantly and Sam raised an eyebrow in anticipation.

"Alright. Worth a shot."

"Yeah, good luck with them. They are both teddy bears until they show up at court, turning into grizzlies, especially Murdock. He might be blind, but don't let his look to deceive you. He has a way with words if anything, a lawyer, after all. There might be someone else though. A girl…"

"What girl?" Sam asked tiredly, too exhausted to be impressed, expecting another catch just like with the lawyer duo. On the other hand, if there was a girl, maybe Dean could actually use some of his charm he claimed to have for a good cause.

"Veronica Machackova. I don't think she will be much help, but she was saved by the Devil – being held hostage in a bank robbery and kidnapped – want the files? It wasn't pretty, one of ours was involved. All of the men believed the Devil had a connection with her, they were hoping to reveal his identity. Didn't go so well…" he noted, already spinning on his heels, heading for the file.

"Hey, that's not necessary. Can I just have the address? I'll talk to her…"

"I did that too. She wouldn't talk about him much. You can try." Mahoney shrugged, leaving him alone once again.

He called Dean instantly.

"What's the word, Sammy?" his voice, sounding a little bored, said through the speaker.

"We have big fat nothing. But, there is one lead I would like to follow…" he admitted, already thinking of the best way of approaching the girl.

"Sounds good. These people know jack shit. I'll check the other places… or you wanna meet?"

Sam considered his offer for a minute – Dean would use his flirting skills, but some people found his cockiness annoying. Plus there was no guarantee she wasn't gay. And she might be traumatised and Sam liked to think he was better with those than his brother.

"No, we need to cover all our options. I'll go alone."

"Whatever. Call me when you find something. See you in the evening."

Sam was glad the girl lived in Hell's Kitchen (which wasn't surprising, not really, since the Devil had cared to save her and the area was his playground), because he had to walk, since Dean took the Impala – naturally.

The walk wasn't pleasant, cold biting his cheeks – he stopped at some small pizza place, buying a piece as a sad excuse for a lunch and after about twenty minutes, he found the right apartment building. He checked the number and shouted at the woman coming in to hold the door for him. She eyed him suspiciously, but obeyed, and he gave her his most charming smile.

"Thank you, madam," he beckoned and as a gesture of gratitude, he helped her with her groceries – she lived on fourth floor, so she was grateful and Sam at least got to eye the names on the doors, finding Machackova (and seriously, what was she, Russian?) on the ones on the second floor. God, he hoped she could speak English.

He said his goodbyes to the woman – Mrs. Prichard – and jogged down, knocking on the girl's door.

" _Coming!"_ sounded from the inside and Sam sighed in relief. At least she was at home _and_ she spoke some English; that was like the first luck they had that day. Apart from meeting the sergeant who pointed him in her direction. Sam heard her footsteps as she approached the door and put on a serious but kind mask.

His poker face went to hell the moment she opened the door and he saw her, raising her head as her eyes only met his chest due to her (or his) height, going wide when she recognized him, mouth slightly hanging open.

Sam was taken aback as well, two thoughts hitting him instantly. Firstly, the world was way too small. Secondly, he was really glad he hadn't taken Dean with him.

She got her shit together first, speaking up. "Uhm…sorry, can I help you?" she asked hesitantly, examining his face, confused and suspicious.

He thanked _god_ he decided to leave Dean behind or that he hadn't thought of sending Dean here alone instead – she would probably slam the door to his face.

"Yes. _Yes_. Miss Machackova, I presume?" He tried to sound confident, sliding back into his charade.

She blinked. "Yeah…I mean, it's what my ID says…"

Sam raised one corner of his lips as if he appreciated her sarcasm. "Great. My name is Nick Mason." He fished out his fake badge, showing it to her and she flinched, actually taking a step back. Huh. "I'm with the FBI and I have some questions for you. May I come in?" he explained, softer though, sensing she was startled by his previous words and the badge.

The girl gaped silently, making a space for him to enter, loosely gesturing with her hands. "Yeah. Yeah, sure… Agent Mason."

He noticed she wasn't wearing her shoes – he squatted to put them off as well.

"Oh, you don't have to… uhm. Too late," she mumbled under her breath and Sam smiled internally at her embarrassment, standing up again, letting her to lead him further to the apartment. It was small but nice – they entered a living room connected to a kitchen and she headed to the counter. "Anything I can get you, Agent? Water, juice, tea… sorry, I don't have coffee— _oh my god_."

Sam raised an eyebrow at the sudden curse. Her face turned bright red. "You okay, miss-"

"The man who was with you at the café. He's— he's an agent too?" she queried, hand over her mouth.

"Yes. My colleague, David Mason. No relation in fact, it's a private joke…"

She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned onto the counter, looking like supporting herself and not trusting her knees to hold her. Sam was getting worried.

"I said to an FBI agent to get over himself. Ježišmarja…"

Sam couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. She looked at him incredulously.

"That's not a crime. He deserved it. Water's fine, thank you," he reassured her and she huffed, indeed reaching for a glass and filling it with water.

"Couch? Or dining table?" she offered, face still crimson.

"The table is just fine, miss Machackova." They both sat down, the girl observing him timidly with traces of respect and fear. He unzipped his coat, pulling out small notebook. "I'd like to ask a few questions. About what happened to you about few months ago. The bank robbery and kidnapping? About the vigilante saving you?"

His questions seemed to startle her even more. Her eyes went wider if possible, but there was also a spark of _something_. Something he couldn't quite decode. She shifted in her chair, head tilting to side inconspicuously.

"Why? You're investigating it? It was closed… pretty much."

"We're just monitoring… the Devil's actions," he explained patiently and the spark in her eyes burned brighter. Her lips thinned.

" _Why?"_

It was determination what he saw, he realized. "Recently, there were some crimes-"

" _He_ didn't do it," she interrupted him, outraged, confident. She glared at him, burning gaze pointed to his eyes.

She was sure of what she was saying. It wasn't just determination he saw – it was conviction. She knew something. Something useful. She might actually know _him_.

"How could you possibly know what I'm talking about?" he asked innocently, measuring her, smug smile creeping to his lips. He didn't try to hide it.

"I live here, Agent. I work in the café. Rumours are going around. You're probably talking about the bodies. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen would never do anything like this," she answered, voice shaking faintly. The tone she used when she said the name of the vigilante displayed her respect for him. There was no doubt what side she was on.

"He's known to be quite violent. And vigilantism isn't exactly legal either, you should know that better than anyone. Do you know who did it then?" he pressed, hoping to irritate her a little.

"Of course not. But not him. He's a good man. And what do you mean I should know that better-"

"We saw with your boyfriend today at the café. Matthew Murdock? The lawyer?"

His smile grew wider as she huffed. Her hand twitched as if she wanted to throw it in the air. She didn't like this conversation, that was clear as day. She knew much more than she had let on when speaking with Sergeant Mahoney, Sam was sure of it. He just needed to make her talk. She didn't want to though – he needed to make her slip.

"You sound sure about his innocence. Why is that?" he wondered out loud, gaining a sharp glare.

"I told you! He's the good guy! He _saved_ me, three times-"

"Three times?" The cop was talking about hostage situation and kidnapping. That was _two_.

This time, it was her who almost grinned in satisfaction, enjoying the superiority she had. "There was an attempted mugging that didn't make it to the records, Agent. Not important. He's _helping_ people. Talk to anyone who's not a criminal he put behind bars. Read the letters expressing gratitude from all people whose lives he saved. He's a _hero_."

Sam had to keep his jaw from falling. The voice she spoke in, it wasn't just conviction soaking through every word. It was _affection_. She _cared_ about him. Well, he would be damned. Perhaps he needed to try a different tactics.

"Okay. Let's say I believe you." He leaned in, urgency in his tone. "Do you know any way of contacting him?"

She mirrored his move, withdrawing, taken aback by the sudden change. She blinked in surprise. "Sorry, _what?"_

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Do you know if there is any way of talking to him? Place he comes often?"

She shrugged, calmed down now – she returned to the confidence, voice no longer shaking, strong even.

"Try back alleys. And abandoned warehouses. That's where all shady things happen. He stops them. You'll find him where his help in needed."

Sam was well-aware he didn't guard his expression as much as he should and he gave her something his brother called bitchface.

"Anything else I can help you with, Agent?" she asked, challenging him, chin moving up. Whatever made to change her attitude, Sam hated it, because he was positive he wouldn't get another word out of her. _Shit_.

He stood up. "No, no. Thank you for your time, miss Machackova." He left quickly, glass of water left untouched on the table. The moment she closed the door behind him, he dialled Dean.

"What's up, Sammy?"

"I need you to meet me."


	3. Rule 3

**3\. Don't sniff around (it pisses people off… and monsters as well)**

Dean thought Sam was insane, wanting to contact the Devil of Hell's Kitchen for more intel. Himself though, he didn't find out much. Sam got in their car, learning that there were still no witnesses apart from one drunk claiming he saw a monster with glowing eyes – then again, he supposedly said that every other day, some days being it a pale guy with really sharp teeth. Glowing in the sunlight. Yeah.

Sam took his laptop, setting a search for the possible starting point for the monsters that would hint them where their lair might be. Dean, clearly bored and not impressed, took a walk around the neighbourhood, trying to find a decent diner. Well, _any_ diner. So Sam was left alone with his work, eyeing the entrance to the girl's apartment building from time to time. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for – for the vigilante come knocking her door? For her-

 _-leaving the building at half past nine p.m.?_ Yeah, perhaps. Randez-vous with her saviour? He sat up straight, tossing the laptop aside, hiding it under a blanket on the back seat – he liked it too much to let it be stolen. Not to mention Dean would kill him if someone broke the windows of Impala when seeing something so expensive lying there without any guarding.

He sneaked out of the car, gun shoving behind his slacks – hell, he might need it. If anything, he might actually bump into the werewolf. Or two of them, it was still hard to tell. The lunar cycle was their advantage – they should be weakened by now, if even changing. Then again, they might be pure-bloods and that would be very, very unfortunate. They wouldn't give a shit about lunar cycle – they would shift whenever they wanted to if they were able to control it.

The girl had no bag, her keys, maybe a phone and wallet in the pockets of her coat. That only supported his suspicion. He kept his distance, his height making it difficult to hide. She walked few streets, kept looking over her shoulder before she took a sharp left, disappearing into one of dark alleyways. Suspicions confirmed.

He gave her some time and then he followed, peeking to the alleyway as well.

 _Huge misstep._

Strong pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him in with minimum effort as if he wasn't 220 lbs of living mass. Holy-

Before he could reach his gun, his right hand was gripped in firm hold, twisted behind his back, making him to bend forward. He swept his other hand for the weapon vainly, his attempt repulsed, gun clinking on the ground.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, jerking to free himself. Despite his undeniable weight advantage, the only result was more pain in his wrist and shoulder. _Fuck._ Who was this guy? Sam mentally slapped himself – what he did was just plain stupid. Such an obvious trap, dammit.

"Why are you following her?" a dangerous voice hissed to his ear, his tone freezing Sam on spot. Sam saw lots of scary things in his life. He heard a lot too. But this sent shivers down his spine; the voice was a liquid threat.

"I don't know what you're talking ab- _ahhh_ ," he whined as the tension in his shoulder strengthened, pain running through it like a knife. He subconsciously bent more, avoiding the pain.

"You've been in her apartment asking too many questions. You didn't leave the car parked on the street she lives in ever since. Now you just happen to walk the same direction and you stepped out conveniently thirty seconds after she went out," he continued, righteous anger in every word. _Shit_. Sam hadn't been spying; Sam was being spied on. "Wanna try that again?"

His mind raced, trying to figure out how to get out of his grip. He kicked out, but as if the other man knew exactly what he was about to do, he moved away, booting his other knee, making him sink to his knees. His arm cried in agony.

"Alright, alright. I'm agent Mason-"

"No, you're not," he protested immediately. " _WHAT do you want with her?_ And think about your answer in case you want to use your arm again."

" _Jesus_. Nothing! I wanted to talk to _you_ ," he admitted finally as he figured out lying probably didn't work with this one. He knew much more than Sam would think. _Shit_.

"We're talking."

Sam gasped, wondering whether he would be able to use his fingers ever again. He couldn't feel them anymore. "And can't we do it like two adults?"

"No. You should have thought it through before you started stalking an innocent young woman and imposing an officer of law. _Why_ did you want to talk to me?" he thundered, not loosening his hold an inch.

Alright. At least he got the Devil's attention. Also, he was fairly sure this wasn't Lucifer, so that was something.

"The bodies appearing lately-" he started only to be interrupted again.

"I didn't do it. I'm working on figuring it out."

"Yeah, maybe. In that case you're over your head. You can't deal with this," Sam hissed, concerned by the fact he was losing sensation in his wrist as well.

To his shock, the Devil suddenly let go.

"You genuinely believe that," he breathed, astonished. Then he returned to his hard mask. "But trust me, I can."

Sam massaged his fingers and wrist, getting up, looking at the man who stood in defensive posture few steps in front of him, Sam's gun at his feet. In the shadows, he looked exactly like in the pictures and videos. Sam would say less scary, because he had to look down at him, but after what he had just been through, he wouldn't let the man to fool him. Not again.

"No, you can't, because you don't know what you're dealing with," he explained, pleasantly surprised that he in fact could move his fingers, no matter how painful it was. Huh.

The vigilante tilted his head as if he was considering something. It was incredibly _human_ gesture, in a stark contrast to the brutal force and intimidating voice he used before. "Do you?"

"I have a few theories, yes."

"Good. Care to share?" he challenged him, sounding like he wanted to cross his arms on his chest – he didn't though. He held them relatively high, ready to defend himself if needed – or attack.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. The less you know the better – stay out of this," Sam hinted him, saying nothing but the truth. This man was dangerous enough, but fighting a werewolf, he wouldn't stand a chance. Sam needed him only for information, not for the fight.

"Hardly. I'll find out one way or another," he responded confidently and Sam whined internally.

"I'm serious. It's too dangerous," he warned him, apparently with no effect.

"Did you already forget about the way we talked a minute ago?"

Sam flexed his fingers again, testing their stiffness. No, he really _didn't._ "No. But whatever you do, it won't help you. Not against this."

"I don't care about what you think." He took several rapid steps and Sam was on the ground again before he had a chance to prepare for the lunge. " _Stay away from Vera,"_ the Devil growled to his ear, knee buried between Sam's shoulder blades as he lied flat on the pavement, arms behind his back. "And get the hell out of _my city_."

Then the pressure vanished out of blue, and Sam only managed to turn his head to see the man disappear in the shadows, creak of near fire escape being only hint of where he went.

He stumbled to his feet, finding his gun on the ground, cursing. Dammit. That didn't go well. He walked back to the car, planning on calling Dean, mind wandering.

He realized he never asked the Devil what exactly he knew about all this.

Sam didn't mention Dean he had an encounter with the vigilante – he rather didn't spread the information he got his ass handed to him. He simply told him it was probably a dead end and grabbed a salad at the diner Dean found – naturally, he walked there, not being allowed to drive Dean's _baby_. It made them significantly slower, but rules were rules.

Sam's algorithm actually did find possible location, area of mile radius, so he counted that as a win. Dean parked the Impala on the edge of the populated area, close enough so they wouldn't have to walk too much, on the other hand far enough for the car not to get in harm's way. Typical. They both stock up with many, many silver bullets, two guns on them each, walking cautiously, keeping their eyes peeled for any movement.

The area was mostly abandoned as expected – whoever was turning, they were probably new, maybe even scared from his shifting; if they remembered it though. It would make sense they ran away from people, hiding, possibly sticking with someone who was the same. Sam didn't like killing the young ones better or worse than the old ones, but sadly, there was no other way – there was no exorcism that would expel the animal part from their body, neither a cure for their werewolf side. Silver bullets it was then.

Rustling on his right made him spin on his heels – nothing but a shadow. Sam didn't like it. Dean, who was few steps in front of him, turned to the sound as well, shooting his brother a confused look – he didn't see anything either, fishing out his flashlight so their surrounding was illuminated better than from a distant crappy streetlamp.

The light reflected in huge yellow eyes, too high and too close, making Sam jumping back, immediately firing, not really caring where. The creature roared, springing in his direction as he fired again, this time aiming for its heart. Dean didn't help him – Sam heard another growl in short distance, his brother's gun going off as well, fighting his own opponent.

His enemy flinched when another bullet hit its chest, continuing his way more slowly than before. _Shit. It didn't kill him._ Was Sam such a crappy shooter? He actually hoped so, taking another shot.

This time, he was pretty sure he hit its heart. Nothing.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. "Silver's not working!" he yelled after his brother.

Sarcastic shout was his answer. "You think?!"

Sam had no idea what the hell he should do. He was out of bullets, uselessly reaching for his other gun, walking backwards rapidly. Before he could fire, the werewolf lunged, Sam jumping away in the last second.

 _Shit_. He had stuffed the creature with eight bullets, attempting to aim on its head, but he had no time. It took a swing again and this time… he was too slow. He felt the claws cutting through his abdomen, letting out a groan, stumbling backwards.

"Sammy!" terrified scream reached his ears, but he couldn't turn its direction, making his way as far from the werewolf as he could. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , that stung. He instinctively raised his hands, pressing against the wound – his palms immediately got wet and stick with his blood. _Oh Jesus,_ that was not good, not at all.

He peripherally saw a small flying light hitting the creature – it roared and turned around, following the other werewolf, running away, howl resounding from somewhere between the buildings .

It was a lighter, Sam realized. Dean had thrown his lighter after it. The monsters minded fire.


	4. Rule 4

**4\. Don't fight with people you love (the** **y love you too)**

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ Sammy?!" Dean hovered over him as he leaned onto the nearest wall, knees somehow weak. _Yeah, that tends to happen when you're bleeding out._ He inhaled sharply, new wave of pain washing over him together with adrenalin, making him clench his fists on his abdomen.

"I'm good, I'm good..." he mumbled out of habit, trying to stand up straighter. He looked around, making sure the werewolves were indeed gone. They were. But Sam and Dean were no longer alone. _"Oh shit."_

"Yeah, I know. Hey, you're gonna be alright-" Dean tried to comfort him, stripping his jacket, pressing against the wound. Sam hissed at the touch.

"No, it's not that. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen is right behind you."

And wasn't that fantastic? He stood only few steps behind his brother, visible part of his face pale, his hands trembling inconspicuously. If Sam felt better, he would spit _I told you so_ right to his half-face. But he felt like shit and the Devil seemed quite out of it.

"I'm calling 911," his brother blurted out, already pulling the phone out. Sam stopped him before he could do such an unwise thing.

"You can't, Dean, what the hell are we going to tell them? That a bear attacked me? In the middle of Manhattan?" he suggested with a solid amount of sarcasm, pushing himself up, using the wall as his support, testing the strength in his legs. It was a little better, the adrenalin kicking in.

"Shit."

The masked figure behind Dean stepped closer, his boots scratching against the pavement – Dean spun in his direction, finally acknowledging him. Sam swallowed another _I told you so_.

"Hey! Stay away from my brother you freaky son of a bitch! I'm serious!" he yelled at him, losing the pressure on Sam's injury to reach for his gun.

The vigilante showed his empty hands, hidden in gloves, offering a no-harm gesture. "He needs help," he stated the obvious, voice low and less growly than when he had talked to Sam the last time. He almost looked like he worried about him. How sweet.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock."

The man's arm twitched. "I can help. I have a friend. She's helping me when something goes sideways."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Dean asked the same question Sam wanted to ask, apparently his brain-to-mouth connection working better than Sam's. But hey, he was entitled. What did that mean, really?

"She's stitching me up. She's a nurse," he explained slowly, taking another careful step.

"Hey! Step back! No way I'm trusting a dude who calls himself _the Devil_ and runs around New York in-"

"I trust him."

Sam didn't know how the words left his lips, but the moment they did, he realized it was the truth. He would put his hopes in the man who had attacked him less than few hours ago; the man had done it because he had feared for the girl. He had wanted to protect her, because that was what he was doing – protecting people. He wasn't different from them – some people believed they were criminals and they kept hurting others – while all they were doing was trying to save lives.

"What the hell, Sammy?" Dean snapped his head back to him, shooting him incredulous look.

" _I trust him,"_ he repeated, seeing _the_ _Devil_ nodding, phone already out.

Sam rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

" _Hey, hey, Sammy. Don't pass out on me."_

"Hey. Yeah. No. It's someone else. He has four deep cuts in his abdomen and chest. Bleeding— I can't take him to the hospital. Yes. Come to corner 9th and 46th. _Yes_ , it is and _no_ I'm not thrilled about it in the slightest. Thanks. And bring some painkillers, please," he asked, gently by his measures, and Sam blinked as he suddenly heard him on his side. "Can I?"

Dean and Sam looked at him simultaneously as he held out his hand. Sam nodded and the man cautiously slipped arm under his. "Come on, let's get you somewhere safe."

Surprisingly enough, Dean didn't protest against his action, simply supporting Sam's other side.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, don't mention it." He didn't seem to be affected by the fact he was helping 6'4'' tall man walk, already dialling another person. This time he sounded even softer, despite the fact he was still talking rather low-pitched. "Hi. _Yes, I'm okay._ I'm sorry for calling so late— could you please open the door for us. Yes, _door_ … I brought… friends. And Claire will come as well."

Sam snorted weakly at the conversation. "Do you often visit people using something else than their door as an entrance?"

He didn't really expect an answer, pleasantly surprised when he got one.

"More often than they like I think…"

 _-DEAN'S POV_

He didn't like the masked man. Truth to be told, he didn't trust him in the slightest, because he was hiding his face – people who did that usually had something to hide –, but Sammy apparently did and they were kinda short of options. So he supported his brother's weight, his body heavier with each step, walking towards the car, manipulating him on the shotgun seat while the Devil slipped to the back easily. He had few plus points for trying not to get blood on the seats.

"Navigate?"

"He knows. He had been there whole day," the man announced flatly and Sam gasped.

"You gotta be kidding me." He looked like he wanted to turn his head to the masked nutjob, but then he probably decided it would take too much effort. "Take the next right, Dean"

"I know where we drove from…"

The ride was short, yet painfully long, Sam's breathing fastening and getting shallow. The man in the back had his head tilted as if he was paying attention to something Dean didn't care about.

The moment he parked the car, they both jumped out of their seats, the man already opening the door and helping Sammy out. Two more points for him.

The main door opened with buzzing, their bizarre trio stepping in. Stairs were a pain, Sam's legs not quite listening to him and Dean was getting more and more anxious, mentally counting how long it would take the ambulance to get here if they would call now. The nurse better be a freaking miracle and this better not be a really weird trap.

They limped to the second floor, door to one of the apartments already open, somewhat familiar girl in glasses measuring them with horrified eyes.

"Ježišmarja. Agent-?" she shrieked and made space for them so they could enter the small hall in the apartment. Dean couldn't quite place the girl, but he was sure he had seen her before. Dean knew Sam interrogated her, but Dean hadn't been there at the time. So where did he know her from?

"So you don't know any way of contacting him, huh?" his brother mocked her weakly, tangling his feet as he tried to overstep the doorsill.

The girl gaped at them silently, unable to let out a single sound and gestured to a couch, the Devil leading the way while comforting the girl.

"He's not gonna arrest you. He's not an agent. He's bleeding though. A lot."

"Yeah, I can see that," she exclaimed with a little irony and lot of panic in her voice. And it struck Dean all of sudden. _Son of a bitch._ He wouldn't recognize her in the glasses.

"You're the chick from the café."

"Yes. And you the guy who should get over himself," she confirmed as they lied Sam down the couch, small whimper escaping his lips. It stung Dean to his heart. His brother was hurt – again, practically bleeding out. The phone burned in his pocket, hand aching to call 911. Meanwhile, the girl mumbled under her breath. "God, I _so_ should have seen that coming. _Every single guy who ever…_ "

Dean raised an eyebrow at her, confused and unimpressed at the same time, while he kept the pressure on Sam's wound, because his own hands were losing it – and they limped completely.

"Sammy?...Shit!" He lightly slapped him, uselessly, looking around, trying to find anything that could help him – there was nothing. And the masked man was just standing there, head tilted to side like a curious bird – the gesture reminded him of Cas almost painfully. He sent a quick prayer to the angel, before he realized that even if he heard him, he wouldn't be able to locate him because of the sigils carved to his ribs. "Fuck. He's out."

Dean wasn't sure himself who he was talking about.

The Devil spoke in deep voice, probably aiming for comfort. "It's okay. His heartbeat is still strong. Vera, get-"

"-the first aid kit, yeah, yeah…." _Vera_ finished his sentence, already disappearing and Dean's fear-clouded brain finally caught up, processing the words the man had said.

"What do you mean his heartbeat is strong?" he demanded, air caught in his throat.

It _was_ a trap after all. He could _hear_ his brother's _heartbeat_. He was some kind of a monster, maybe even the actual _Devil_ , and he wanted to possess his brother – his dying brother, just like that, because he was a motherfucker who fucked with people and angels for fun.

But why he seemed to be taken by surprise at Dean's question, lips twitching nervously as if he revealed the biggest secret? Lucifer wouldn't fuck with them like _that_.

"Uhm-"

"What the hell are you?" Dean straightened, pulling out his gun, immediately aiming at the man's head. "What the-"

"Hey, _HEY!_ Sit down on your stupid ass and keep the pressure on his wound!" the girl yelled, voice angry and scared rapid steps approaching them both, some box tossed on the table by the couch. " _Šmarja_. You can compare your dicks later. And I don't know what you think he is, but he's a good guy and he just helped you to get your unconscious partner or whoever he is on my couch, revealing the identity of someone he trusts – practically showing you his weakness. So hold your horses and don't be an asshole. _Jesus_."

Dean's gaze flickered to her furious face, her hands widely open as if she was saying _what the fuck do you think you're doing_ , eyes piercing, observing the gun with mixture of fear and fury. Her expression was so open and honest that Dean couldn't do anything else than trust her. He gaped at her silently, shoving the gun back, kneeling to his brother.

"Thanks. T-shirt up— _oh my god,_ what exactly happened to him?"

Dean shot her a helpless look, unable to explain. They had no time for this. To his shock, it was the vigilante who answered.

"It doesn't matter, let's clean this up and start."

She didn't protest, tossing the man pair of latex gloves instead of his reinforced ones, putting on another pair herself, a bottle of disinfection in her hands.

Dean crawled back, letting them work – he only noticed his own hands were trembling slightly, fear taking over him. He didn't know why; it wasn't the first time his brother was severely injured, bleeding profoundly and it certainly wasn't the first time he was unconscious. Maybe it was the fact they were in New York City, the strange place, without his dad as their support, maybe it was the terrifying exploration of werewolves who were somehow immune to silver – it felt like losing solid ground under his feet. He watched the girl clean the cuts, something surreal about it too.

"Disinfection. That's a new one…. Usually we use whiskey for cuts like this," he hummed dully, gaining an incredulous look from her.

"What?! That's— there are so many things wrong with that sentence."

The Devil straightened, startled. "His heartbeat's slowing down," he announced, voice thick.

Dean hated that tone. He hated even more that he wasn't sure what that meant.

"What does that mean?"

"He's losing too much blood… _dammit_ ," the masked man cursed, reaching for the sewing kit, getting ready.

Dean's own heart stopped, clenched by cold fingers, something big growing in his chest, making his breathing much harder. "Sammy? Shit, Sam."

"Vera, Claire's here," the Devil hummed, the girl immediately jerking to her feet, jogging away.

Dean watched him as he started stitching his brother up, tensed and unconvinced he was qualified to do it – then again, Dean was unable to do a single thing by himself, so he had no other option. Despite the mask covering the man's upper face, he seemed to be quite skilful with the needle, which provided at least a little relief to Dean's paralysing fear.

"-real? You want me to make the thing again? _Jesus,_ Vera…" Unknown female voice reached his ears and his gaze automatically flickered to the direction of its source. Pretty Hispanic woman, bag over her shoulder, walked to the couch, eyeing the vigilante, examining his work. "Seriously, Mike? You made some vigilante friends or what? You need to rethink your life choices…. What happened? "

"Hard to explain. The important thing is that he's losing too much blood. Heartbeat's too slow," he said factually, not bothering to raise his head.

" _Awesome_. And why the hell didn't you call the ambulance yet?"

The woman seemed quite outraged and truth to be told, Dean didn't blame her. It was a good question and his fingers itched as the urge of calling 911 arose once more. Despite her words, she started pulling stuff from her bag. Cannulas, needles, things he had never seen before… and that meant _something_ , coming from him.

"Because you're a miracle worker," the Devil complimented her, facing her for a second, small smile on his lips. Then he turned to Dean. "You know his blood type? What's yours?"

Dean hesitated, rather thinking twice before he spoke, making sure he got it right. "I'm B-. He's A-. Why?"

There was a beat of silence, the three of his new allies exchanging a look. The girl was the first to gather herself.

" _Oh_ …uhm. We're good. We're gonna do a transfusion. It's… a little unorthodox, but don't worry, Claire did it before."

Vera smiled at him reassuringly, walking to the kitchen, pulling out juice from the fridge, pouring a glass.

"Fine. I'll do it," the man sighed, putting the needle away and Dean didn't know what shocked him more – the fact they wanted to improvise a transfusion station in someone's apartment, probably leading the cannula _from_ _one person to another_ , or the fact that the man he had just met was offering himself to be the donor. His head spun a little, another bombshell dropping.

"Like hell you do! No!" the girl protested loudly, rapid steps towards them.

"Don't even _think about it_ , Vera."

She shot him something that could only be a murderous glare. Dean watched their exchange like a tennis match, getting slightly nervous about nothing being done about his brother.

"Are you kidding me? You come here with a bloody _friend_ who imposed an agent just few hours ago and now he's cut to shreds, because of whatever you guys have been doing and you expect me to let _you_ donate your blood? When you're probably going out the minute you can, fighting again? No way I'm giving you the disadvantage of premature blood loss!"

The Devil stood up, inhaling sharply through his mouth, getting ready to fight – but the newcomer was faster, beating him to speaking.

"I'm… kinda with Vera on this one."

"Seriously, Claire?" _Betrayed_. His half-face was betrayed and pissed off.

The woman threw her hands in the air, before returning to her preparations. "She has a point. Now shut up and help me. Sew up what you can, I'll prepare the transfusion."

Something very close to a growl was the only answer she got, the man refusing to move.

"Mike! Dammit!"

The girl gulped her juice in one go, whispering something Dean couldn't hear – the vigilante probably did, because his head heatedly snapped to her, pointedly raising his index finger, jaw clenching with loud click.

" _YOU..._ Don't. Say. Another. Word."

"Hey! Don't be like that to her! Last time she did that she saved your life!" the woman defended her and Dean got really fed up with this.

"There's a man dying! Would you stop this drama and help him?!" he complained, half desperate, half irritated.

"Fine," the Devil hissed, kneeling again, working on Sam's cuts, his lips a thin line, scarily silent.

The only sound he let out was quiet whine as the girl once again whispered something Dean's ears couldn't pick up.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A bit of cheating with Sam's POV. Hope that's okay ;)


	5. Rule 5

**5\. Don't rely on higher power (it's not always available)**

Dean became only an audience once more – he watched the Devil creating precise stitches, while the woman talked to Vera, injecting her inner elbow. He caught something about being crazy and another Tuesday. Truth to be told, he hated Tuesdays. He wondered whether they had a reason for hating it too.

Once the woman moved to Sam, injecting him as well, scarlet liquid flowing through a tube, the Devil finished his recent stitch, handing the needle to the nurse in favour of checking on Vera – he sure had his priorities straight and Dean couldn't blame him since he had his own as well. She passed out within two minutes, the vigilante very much not okay with that. He kneeled by her side, head bowed, her non-impaled hand in his ungloved, silent words leaving his lips.

Having nothing more useful to do, Dean sent several other prayers to Cas, making a phone call as well – if his accompanies eyed him bewildered, he didn't notice and didn't care.

Dean had no idea how much time passed when the man's head snapped up, startling both, the woman and Dean.

"Mike? Is he good already?" she demanded, taking Sam's pulse. Dean's heart fluttered with hope.

 _Mike_ made an unhappy grimace, his jaw tightening. Dean's hope crumbled in a pile of dust.

"I'll take that as a no," she noted, not particularly thrilled either.

Moments passed.

"He is _now_ ," the Devil blurted out, relief soaking through every syllable. He gestured to the needle in Vera's arm. "How do I get it out right?"

"Just pull and keep the pressure to-"

"-prevent the bruising, yeah," he finished, following her instruction as she did the same to Sam. Dean noticed his skin had a slightly better shade. Vivid one. Not exactly perfect, not as it usually was, but definitely better.

The woman continued. "Good. And-" Mike took the girl in his arms wordlessly, making his way to another room. "-and lay her down so her brain has enough oxygen. "

Dean gaze followed them for only seconds, before he returned to observing his brother and asked the burning question. "He's… he's gonna be okay?"

"He should be. Something tells me he's one tough son of a bitch," she gave him a warm exhausted smile, still keeping the pressure on Sam's elbow. Dean felt himself smile as well, his chest growing with pride.

"Yeah, that's Sammy."

"Brother?" she guessed, returning to sewing the edges on the last cut. Dean knew he could trust her with Sam, so he eyed the other pair, peeking through half opened door. Mike laid her gently to her bed, caressing her hair and taking off her glasses, while still keeping his hand on her elbow. He kissed her forehead gingerly; definitely extremely close to each other.

"Yeah… his sister?" He beckoned to them and the woman glanced at them too. "He kinda has this whole… I-need-to-protect-her-at-any-cost thing going on. And we saw her with her boyfriend, so…"

She seemed to hesitate as if she wasn't sure what she was allowed to give away. "Something like that… I stitch your eyebrow when I'm done with Sam?"

"Nah, that's good." Truth to be told, he didn't notice he had a cut there, only realizing now that the dried blood was contracting his skin.

"Need help with him?" Mike asked quietly, carefully closing the door to the bedroom. There was no way this guy was _The Devil_. Dean wasn't sure what he was, but he sure had a strong human side.

"Almost done, it's okay," she replied, indeed finishing, putting dressings on the wounds.

Believing Sam was out of immediate danger, he felt the relief wash over him. And it wasn't just relief – he looked at the pair of strangers, fully realizing they had just saved his brother's life. There was no way he could ever repay them.

"Thank you for… all of this. Both of you," he said honestly, sitting up straighter, trying to look less pathetic and more like he meant it. He felt urge to do something else though, something he didn't do often. He needed to apologize. He tentatively turned to face the vigilante only. "And you… I'm… sorry. For getting your sister-"

Mike shook his head, something helpless and regretful in it. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who brought you _here_ in the first place. I hate when she's being right and ends up bloody because of that."

And Dean had to admit that he would hate that too. And he realized it wasn't just the man being protective of the girl – the worry and care came both ways.

"This one said that she saved your live?" Dean remembered their previous fight, beckoning to the bedroom door to make clear who he meant.

"My name is Claire," she hummed.

"Dean," he flashed her quick smile. "Anyway, that right?"

"Yes," he admitted with a sigh. Heavily. Gratefully. Guiltily?

"But you saved hers too. Twice," Dean recalled some of the things Sam told him while reasoning his crazy idea of questioning the girl and wanting to find the local vigilante – and if _that_ hadn't turned out well…

Mike pressed his lips together, shaking his head again. "It doesn't matter. She's not the one who should be in danger."

Dean's heart shivered with sympathy. He could understand that. Sadly, he understood the other side of this as well. After all, it was him who had approached Sam on Stanford, knowing he couldn't handle this life on his own.

"I get that. That's my little brother right here. I want him to be okay… but I couldn't do it without him."

"Yeah, you're both overprotective loving older _brothers_. You can hug and cry and bond over it later," Claire stepped in and Dean snapped out from his sappy musing. "Dean, anything that needs my assistance?"

He declined.

"Mike?"

Something incredible happened. The man _awkwardly_ shifted his weight, opening and closing his mouth several times, looking insecure. "Maybe? I mean… I could stich it up myself, but since you're here…"

"Mike, what is it?" she demanded and he hesitantly rolled up his undershirt, revealing a pretty deep cut on his own. Dean felt his eyes go wide, his pulse picking up speed. The woman gaped at him. "Are you _fucking_ kidding me?! Why the hell didn't you say anything? Sit down!"

Mike obeyed with a timid smile, that small movement of his lips confusing Dean even more. What the hell?!

" _Okay_ , you're definitely human. And why the _fuck_ did you offer your blood when you're obviously losing it already? "

" _Jesus Christ_ , Mike. You're such an asshole."

"Yeah, I heard that before. Vera prefers _Dick_ though," he offered almost cheerfully and Dean just gave up trying to wrap his mind around this. He needed a drink dammit.

The woman laughed silently, cleaning the cut. "Oooh, she's gonna be so mad when she'll find out." Mike didn't flinch when the disinfection hit his skin, but his expression hardened.

"Yeah, well, too bad she passed out while donating blood, _again_ , I really don't think _\- ahhh,"_ he let out small sound of pain as she dug the needle in his abdomen. He was obviously keeping it quiet for sakes of those who were asleep. Kinda asleep.

"You didn't give him any painkillers," Dean realized.

"He doesn't like them."

"What the fuck?!" Dean and Sam didn't use painkillers too often – but that was because they were a bitch to get hold on. Not because they… _didn't like them._ That really guy was a nut job.

Ironic smile spread on her lips, voice full of sass. "Dean, meet Mike. He doesn't like painkillers and thinks it's a great idea to join knife and gun fights with his fists without any protection or armour-"

"It would slo-" Mike wanted to object, but she cut him off.

"-slow you down. Yeah. We've been there before. None of us can win. Now stop fidgeting…."

Claire was fast and skilful. A nurse after all. She was done within few minutes, bandaging Mike, giving them both instructions. Mike thanked her for like three times and Dean could only second him. Then she simply left.

Mike found two blankets, one for each brother, Dean taking the armchair, the vigilante camping in Vera's bedroom. Dean tried to keep a watch over Sammy, but as he felt in his guts that he was taken care of well, he couldn't keep his eyes open. He fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of blood.

 _\- SAM'S POV_

The first thing he realized was that he was hearing a female voice. A nice voice, light note in it, not too loud, not a whisper. "Morning, sunshines."

The second thing was that his body felt really heavy. And sore – especially his abdomen and chest, a stinging feeling creeping into his consciousness. As if he got… cut. With werewolf claws. _Oh shit._

"Sunshine? Really? How are you so cheery? You look like shit." That was definitely his brother's voice talking. Sam tried to find the way to control his body, move – at least open his eyes, if anything else. Memories of last night slowly arose in his mind, remembering blood and pain and surprised faces.

"Don't talk to her like that," another male voice protested, somewhat threatening. Sam was positive that was the vigilante talking. His fingers twitched.

"Awww. Thanks, Mike. But you're still in disgrace," the girl noted teasingly, fondness in every word.

"Well, you too. I gotta run."

The girl gasped, making Sam snap his eyes open. White ceiling welcomed him, illuminated with weak light. "Really? Are you leaving me here with them? Two strangers? In my apartment? Alone? " she sounded like she couldn't decide whether she should be outraged or betrayed. Sam couldn't help smiling.

"She's got a point. My brother was hitting on her," he mumbled, licking his lips as they were too dry. He was surprised he managed two comprehensible sentences, considering how weary he felt.

His brother's face appeared above him, eyes shining, voice loud and much more full of life than before. "Sammy! You're awake!"

Dean looked like he wanted to hug him, but then he realized he was a _man_ , and men didn't do hugs and Sam was a little bit hurt to be pressed against another body anyway. Right. He tried to push himself up – he immediately discovered it wasn't a very good idea, his belly protesting, throbbing with pain. Freaking werewolves. He gritted his teeth, gratefully leaning to the backrest of the couch he was on. Dean expression changed from delighted to worried.

"You okay there?" Dean wanted to know, concerned eyes examining him from head to toe. Sam nodded and pulled the blanket up so he didn't display his bare torso to everyone. Plus, while the room was warm enough, but the blanket felt nice.

"I know he did," the masked man hummed somewhere from behind him. His next words sounded too dark and dangerous. Not as much protective, more like… possessive. "I simply believe he understands what would happen to him if he did it again."

It gave Sam goose bumps and he slowly turned his head to the direction of the voice. The man was still wearing his black outfit, mask indeed on his head. Despite the solemn voice, there was a hint of a smile on his face and Vera (right, that was the girl's name) grinned at him, slapping his arm, something ungraspable hanging between them.

Sam sensed something fishy here. But he was too tired and literally drained (and he noticed there was another reason why his getting up was so difficult – his elbow was bandaged as well) to think about it too hard – he simply asked.

"Is he like your other boyfriend or something?"

" _No_ , _Sammy_. She's his little sister. Or whatever. Family don't end with blood and all that jazz," Dean explained, patting him on his shoulder patronizingly.

 _Oh_. Overprotective brother then. Sam knew those. "Oooh, Dean, you're in so much trouble…"

"Bitch."

"Jerk," he shot back automatically, the corners of his lips involuntarily rising.

"How do you feel?" Vera approached him, standing awkwardly by the armrest of the couch.

"Cut. But obviously I'll live," Sam reflected. He breathed in deeply, his muscles reflexively tensing as pain shot in his abdomen and he thought for a second it might be better if he wouldn't. He blinked, eyeing the girl. "Thank you bo— where the hell did he go?"

She shrugged. "To work. Who's up for breakfast?"

"To work?!" Sam looked around the room, gaze stopping at the window, dawn slowly lighting up the sky. To work?

"He had to change before joining the process of money earning. Vigilantism is poorly paid…. Actually, it's not paid at all."

Sam hummed in agreement. He rather didn't think what kind of a job the man – and Vera called him _Mike_ , he remembered now – with his skills could possibly do. He had a hunch though that he wasn't committing multiple crimes – like theft and fraud – while doing it.

"Did you say breakfast? You have any place with burgers around?" Dean wanted to know and Sam rolled his eyes. Burgers. For breakfast. Probably with pie as a dessert. Sam wouldn't want to know his brother's cholesterol levels.

"What?!"

"Don't mind him," Sam soothed her, her baffled expression not really disappearing. "And don't worry about us."

"Hey, you need to eat. And drink," she exclaimed, walking to the kitchen, putting a kettle on, opening different drawers and cupboards. "Orange juice is cool? Tea? No coffee, sorry. And I don't have too much to eat, actually. I usually go with oatmeal or flapjack or something, so…"

Dean let out a sound of pure disgust while Sam lighted up. Sweet. _"Of course you do_ , another health freak, just what I needed," he bickered, already making his way out of the apartment as if he was afraid that healthy lifestyle could be infectious.

"Any flapjack you won't miss too much?" Sam asked innocently, earning a smile from Vera.

"Fine. Eat your rabbit food. I'm a warrior. I'm getting a burger. I'll call Sammy when I'm downstairs."

Vera handed Sam glass of juice with two energy bars. "Here. Want some tea as well?"

Sam smile at her gratefully, drinking the juice in one go. She raised an eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes. Fruit, green, black, chamomile?"

"Black, please," he creaked, his throat protesting slightly as the cold liquid cooled it.

"Oh, good morning, madam," Dean's surprised voice sounded from the door, Vera's and Sam's head snapping up that direction.

"Vera?" Woman peeked through the doorway and Vera made her way to them, muttering under her breath.

" _Oh god, no_. Hi, Nina! That's Dean. He's my… you remember how you told me about your family ties with Edna? That's something like this. He and his _brother_ are staying for a few days…. I didn't expect their visit. Is… is that okay? I'm sorry."

"No. I mean, yes. I don't mind… Matt's here often and it's alright. As long as they behave…" she noted, clear warning in her words.

"Oh, don't worry, madam," Dean entered their conversation, something like a charming smile on his lips. "We'll be home before curfew, no parties, no alcohol, no fights. We're Vera's family after all…"

Sam rolled his eyes. Again.

"Uhm. Right. I just wanted to remind you the rent and talk, but I guess I'll just… later." The woman disappeared, only her voice reaching Sam's ears. "Please, just… don't get any blood on the wall."

"… _What?"_ Sam mouthed, repeating his question as the door behind the woman and Dean closed.

Vera sighed, expression uncomfortable. "Long story."


	6. Rule 6

**6\. Don't try to make sense of this (it'll only give you headache)**

She was sitting in the armchair, facing Sam, staring rather into her cup of tea, sometimes glancing up. They were both after breakfast, Dean still eating god knew where and the silence between them was just… awkward. Sam, slightly dazed from the painkillers she had given him before, looked at her from time to time too – she only wore t-shirt and sweatpants, but she seemed to be a little cold, tired, hand wrapped around the mug gratefully. She was a little pale, but that might be a trick of light or her natural skin tone – it wasn't like Sam met her many times before. He noticed her elbow was bandaged, making him wonder what had happened to _her_. He didn't remember much from last night – he only knew the Devil and Dean brought him in, the girl opening the door for them, face concerned and shocked, and then there was dark.

"So," she broke the silence, glancing up to him and Sam jumped at the sudden sound, eyes snapping at her, "Agent Nicki Mason. _Sammy_. What name do you go by?"

His heart skipped a beat. He thought of few conversation starters, but that was far from anything he imagined. He considered lying for a while, then chasing away the thought. Maybe it wasn't her choice directly, but she provided them a safe house, letting two obviously dangerous strangers in need stay in her home and she probably played some role in his save. The least she deserved was the truth.

"It's Sam."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Vera," she offered, soft smile on her lips.

She seemed to sense he wasn't lying, pleased by it. Sam couldn't help returning the smile tiredly. Sure, the bars had some sugar in them (and when Vera had seen how hungrily he had practically breathed them in, she had given him another one), but he had lost some blood and that was kinda problem.

"Pleasure all mine," he admitted and her smile widened, cheeks reddening slightly, getting healthier colour. "Thank you for letting us stay… and everything. I'm not sure what exactly that means, but…"

"Mike called a friend. She's a nurse. They stitched you up. Stitched up Mike, because he's a bloody idiot. Literally," she explained easily as if it was a common situation for her. Considering that the local vigilante had her on speed dial and Dean had claimed she was something like his little sister, it might as well be like that. She didn't mention a word about herself though.

"And what happened to you?"

Vera frowned at him as if she didn't understand the question. He raised an eyebrow, beckoning to her arm. Her cheeks flushed even more and she couldn't quite look him in the eyes. She was about to lie.

"Oh, it's… uhm. It's nothing," she mumbled, sipping her tea decently.

"It kinda looks like you were donating blood," Sam said as he realized it was the truth. It _did_. If she had been, why would she be unsecure about it? Then there was the fun fact he had a dressing around his elbow too. Coincidence? Sam saw a lot of things during his life – coincidences like that didn't happen often.

"Yeah. I was. Yesterday."

"You didn't have it in the afternoon," he pressed, slowly understanding the facts, despite how crazy they were. "…and I have the same bandage."

"Yeah, life is full of funny coincidences," she exclaimed, fake grin on her face. Sam was sure now.

"Did you somehow donate your blood… to me?"

Her eyes went wide, her gaze lowering to her cup and she sighed. "You lost a lot of it. Your brother is a different blood type, you couldn't go to the hospital. Mike was injured even though he wouldn't admit it at the time. We didn't have much choice…"

Sam listened to her narration in awe. She was saying it as if she was ashamed, but at the same time, she didn't make it sound like a big deal. If anyone would have asked Sam, he would say it was a _pretty big deal_.

"So, the man who is something like your brother saved my life by dragging me here and helping with stitching me up and you gave me your blood?" he reassured himself in incredulous voice.

"Pretty much. Sounds weird when you put it like that," she complained, grimacing.

"How else should I put it? That's the truth. And it doesn't sound weird, it's sounds kinda heroic if you ask me," he blurted out, still unable to wrap his head about it. She hadn't just offered them a shelter, to a total stranger, after discovering he had lied to her. She hadn't just fed him and played _some_ part in saving his life. _Her_ _blood_ _flowed_ _in_ _his_ _veins_. Unbelievable. "You're… _thank you."_

"Well, not sure it is heroic. I don't even know who I helped," she hummed, intense eyes looking right into his this time.

"Fair enough."

"Who the hell are you? What happened last night? Sorry, but there is no better way to say it – you were _cut to shreds_ ," she blurted out, making a very strange face while saying her last words.

Right. It wasn't that simple. He could go for a lie. She would deserve the truth though. The question was – could she _handle_ the truth?

"I'm not sure you want to know."

"Well, whoever did this, he's here in Hell's Kitchen and apart from living here myself, people I love live here. Matt – my boyfriend – lives here and while he can take care of himself, he's _blind_. My friends are here. Mike's running around at night, fighting the people who did this to you and hurt _him_ as well. So yeah, I would like to know," she reasoned, voice strong and determined.

Sam wasn't sure who _Mike_ was to her, but if the way she had reacted and somehow had handled the situation last night, narrating it indifferently to him, she was definitely involved in something bloody often enough. However, the monsters-are-real revelation was something a little different.

"It's not who," Sam muttered, making a decision, hoping he wouldn't feel sorry for it later.

"Sorry, come again?" She blinked, confused, apparently sure she heard wrong, or at least didn't interpret his words in the right way.

He sighed. "It's not _who_. It's _what_."

Dean called him somewhere between _no_ , _fairies aren't a thing as far as I know, but vampires and werewolves are._ Vera was a good listener – she rarely interrupted him, listening attentively, her face clouding with each word. She seemed to believe him and – naturally – it wasn't very comforting information for her. Yet, there was a spark of excitement.

She opened both doors for Dean and he walked in, apparently well-fed, satisfied, paper box in his hands.

"It's pie, isn't it?" Sam guessed and rolled his eyes as his brother gave him an innocent smile.

"I found an excellent bakery," he shrugged, placing the box on the counter, making his way to one of the armchairs, seating himself. "How are you? Ready to go hun- g on! Did you wanted me to bring you something? I didn't ask…"

Sam looked at him, bewildered, before he realized it was supposed to be a lame safe. He wanted to ask whether Sam was ready to go hunting again – he had no idea what Sam and Vera had been just talking about.

Vera sat in the other armchair, waiting for the outcome.

Sam sighed. "It's okay, Dean. I told her. I don't know if I'm ready to hunt them down. I barely moved since you left."

Dean's eyes popped and his gaze flickered to Vera, before he gave Sam a significant look. Then it hit him. "You told her?"

Sam and Vera nodded simultaneously.

"Well, he started. He was just telling me about vampires and werewolves… I would think you guys are crazy, but Mike seemed quite shaken in the morning – it's not easy to throw him off. He told me he would explain it to me later. Is there anything else I should know about? What do you think this… creature is? How do you want to… _hunt_ it?" she asked hesitantly, unsure whether she used the right terms.

Sam gave her a small reassuring smile, but before he could say something, Dean opened his mouth instead. Oh boy.

"Well, angels are a thing in case he didn't mention that. And most of them are dicks," he exclaimed and she gasped, her gaze incredulous, shooting Dean and Sam looks in turns. Sam grimaced, but he couldn't quite disprove of the sentence. Her face became even more shocked. "And those who aren't… are not available when we need them!" he yelled to the ceiling, huffing in relief as he did something he apparently wanted to do for a while now.

He had probably tried to call Cas. Vainly. Sam hadn't think of Cas' assistance befoe. He could use some healing though…

"Uhm. Yeah. Anyway, we think we're dealing with a werewolf— _werewolves_. We met two yesterday. Silver bullet to its heart usually does it. The problem is, these two didn't seem to mind. They barely flinched. That's how I-" Sam gestured in front of his torso in indefinite motion and her lips formed a surprised oh.

Dean snapped his fingers. "But! They didn't like fire. That's something. I can believe I'm saying this… but we need to do some research."

"Research?" Vera repeated, a little bewildered. "What kind of a research? How? Where do you find things on werewolves? I guess it ain't on Teen Wolf…"

Dean looked at her in disgust, stopping any other possible words with a rejecting gesture. "I don't even wanna know."

"The Internet. Most of the things are nonsense, of course, but if you know where to look. Dean could hit the library, look around for some urban legends that might explain why they are immune to silver…" Sam hinted him and Dean made a tormented face. Hey, Sam would do it himself, but he was barely moving…

Dean lightened up all of sudden. "Why don't we call Bobby first, hm?"

He didn't wait for approval, already dialling.

"Who's Bobby?" Vera asked curiously.

"Our uncle," Sam explained, unable to stop himself from smiling at the mention of the man. He was the best _uncle_ they could wish for. "…well. Kinda."

Vera raised an eyebrow. "Guess that your family _is_ complicated."

"You have no idea…"

"Hey, Bobby!" Dean greeted him cheerfully and Sam could hear the annoyed growl even without having the phone on his ear. "What's up?"

Sam was pretty sure he heard the word _Idjt_. His grin widened.

"Yeah, we ran into a small problem… hold on, I'll put you on speaker."

"Hey, Bobby," Sam saluted as well. He glanced at Vera, who was biting her lip, hesitating whether she should let him know about her presence or simply leave. _"Stay if you want,"_ he mouthed and she nodded tentatively.

"Hey," he grunted. "What did you two idjts got yourselves into? You met flying monkeys?"

Vera grimaced, probably considering if she should be asking if _those_ are real. Sam felt kinda sorry for her and rolled his eyes.

"No. Angels are not involved sadly," Dean sassed and Sam rolled his eyes. "Werewolves."

"Pure-bloods?"

"No idea. Maybe. But they are fucking immune to _silver_ ," Dean complained.

Bobby made a pause. "And how exactly are you still alive?"

"Well…" Sam wasn't sure they should be telling Bobby they had to team up with a guy, who was ninjaing around, beating up criminals.

"Sammy got hurt. But he'll live… "

"How did you chase it away then?"

"Dean lighted it up. They were afraid of fire."

Bobby hummed and for a while, they could only hear rustling of paper. Naturally, Dean decided to spend the time well. With the pie. And was he for real? He had just come back from his breakfast! Not to mention he didn't offer Vera any – when Sam shot him a look, inconspicuously beckoning to Vera, he stopped the spoon halfway to his mouth, shoving the plate to her – she just smiled and shook her head. Dean stuck his tongue to Sam, the freaking five-year old he was. Sam gave him another of his famous _bitchfaces_. He didn't seem to mind.

"Well, I can tell you this. I once met a fella who bumped into one of those," Bobby spoke up suddenly and their trio sat up straighter, listening with more attention.

"Can we trust him? What did he do about it?" Dean asked, words a little incomprehensible as he was speaking with his mouth full.

"We can. It was me, you idjt. And let me tell you – I don't know about fire, but he sure wasn't immune to chainsaw," he announced and Sam felt his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Vera let out a weird strangled sound and started coughing.

Sam bent forward to stand up and hit her back, since Dean apparently wasn't about to do anything about it, but she stopped him with a gesture.

"-m 'kay-"

Sam eyed her, unconvinced, but she coughed few more times and then breathed in properly.

"Who was that?" Bobby's strict voice demanded though the speaker.

"A friend," Sam explained shortly.

"A friend? Who knows about the _lovely_ things that lurk in the night? A hunter? How many?" he pried, voice still thick. He was angry someone was participating at their conversation, even more because he hadn't been aware of it.

Vera eyed Sam hesitantly again and Sam just nodded.

"My name is Vera, sir. I'm not a hunter. Just a bystander who got involved," she explained, sounding nervous. Bobby _could_ be intimidating when he wanted to.

"What the hell does that mean?" he growled, now more annoyed than angry.

Sam came to rescue. "She saved my life, Bobby. Her brother and his nurse friend stitched me up, while she was donating her blood to me."

For what could be almost a minute, there was a shocked silence, interrupted only by their quiet breaths. Even Dean stopped eating, waiting for Bobby's reaction – it wasn't good news Sam told him; they just revealed that they had involved three different people in their hunting mission and that was never good. More people participating, even if passively, meant usually more injured people. Possibly deadly injured.

"Christo."

Vera blinked in surprise, both men taken aback as well.

"She's not a demon, Bobby," Dean informed him flatly. "Sam would be able to tell, don't you think?"

Sam tried really hard not to take that personally. He kinda did.

Bobby huffed. "Okay then. Thanks, lady, for taking care of my boy. He's a fucking idjt for getting hurt in a first place, but thanks."

 _Congratulation_. That was one of the nicest things Bobby just told a complete stranger. Over a phone. Sam couldn't say he wasn't surprised.

But Bobby cleared his throat and continued. "Anyway, about that chainsaw…"


	7. Rule 7

**7\. Don't lie to yourself (admit that you need help)**

"I still think we should be going for the chainsaws…" Dean noted for the fifth time and Sam gave him an unimpressed look – for the fourth time. Vera's reaction was changing – from shocked and horrified, to slightly disgusted, ending up ignoring Dean's notes completely.

Bobby told them that the chainsaw was working as a good tool for decapitation – which he believed was the way to get rid of those _sons of bitches_. On the other hand, if Dean discovered another weakness, it would be a waste not to use it to their advantage. They settled on machetes and simple hair sprays with lighters. Dean brought Sam his laptop so he could be looking for any other possibilities and ordered take out. Now they were just bored. They only waited for the sun going down and the streets to get less crowded, so they could _work_ without scaring the shit out of people.

From time to time, Vera or one of the brothers popped a random question.

"What was the scariest monster you ever encountered?" she asked hesitantly, looking a little like she didn't really wanted to hear the answer.

Sam thought about the question for a while, wondering. For him, the most terrifying beings were demons – Azazel, because he took his mother and his girlfriend away from him. Lilith, because she killed Dean. Ruby, because she made him turn against his own brother. Lucifer was an angel technically, but…

Dean clearly had his mind made up. "People."

Vera gave him an odd look and didn't ask anything for a while.

"How does your thing with Matt even work? I mean, did Mike have to like… give him a permission to date you? Or sleep with you, or…?"

Vera's eyes popped, her face immediately bright red. "I don't think that's any of your business. But before you can create some wild fantasy about it, I started dating Matt _before_ Mike and I became really close so there's that."

Dean made a face and Sam shot him a look so he wouldn't ask any more idiotic questions.

"The angels… what did you mean when you said angels were… you know."

"Dicks? That's easy. They just are."

"…Anyone wants pie?"

It was around five when the shadows finally fell over the city. It was still too soon to do anything really, but the atmosphere in the room thickened considerably.

"Alright, I'm gonna ask… Sam, how exactly do you want to fight _anything_ in your state?" Vera eyed him nervously, shifting in her seat, her gaze quickly lowering as Sam looked at her.

It wasn't like Sam thought he was capable of taking down a werewolf at the time – the thing was that he _had_ _to_. They had no choice – it was a miracle that their yesterday's escapade stopped the werewolves from hurting anyone else, but another night might change everything; the creatures could be more blood-thirsty than before. Not to mention the fact this might be the last chance to get them, unless they were true-bloods and they could shift whenever they wanted to. For another twenty days or so, they would remain _human_. Not convenient. Sam needed to grit his teeth and try to not to pull out too many stitches.

"Well…"

"He's gonna have backup," gravel voice announced from the window and three heads snapped in that direction. They were all surprised at first – then their faces changed, two of them smiling slightly, the last one twisted in horror.

"No. _Absolutely not,"_ she blurted out, standing up, making her way to him, gait aggressive.

Sam sensed the upcoming drama, unsure what do to about it. He couldn't deny he was all in – the man might not have any experience with hunting, but he knew how to fight _somehow_ and they needed all help they could get. On the other hand… he _did not have any experience with hunting_.

"You feel up to it?" Dean challenged, pretending not to really care – Sam knew him though. He wanted Mike to join them. He wanted Mike to join them, because he was afraid that Sam would be an easy prey.

Mike jumped from the ledge, closing the window, tactfully sidestepping his furious sister. "You need help. I can help. I want this— _thing_ to be out of my city as much as you do." His voice was serious. Determined. Dangerous. Exactly what they needed.

"That's… _Mike_ , come on. You've never..." she protested weakly, whiny, following his footsteps, hesitantly reaching for his forearm.

He sighed, turning around to face her. Half-face her – because he was wearing his mask again. It only alarmed Sam a little – they revealed their identities, yet, Mike never put the thing down in their presence, guarding his privacy cautiously. Then again, Sam and Dean had pretty much nothing to lose – they were already wanted for several crimes, unlike him; the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was probably wanted too, but the man behind the mask had another life he didn't want to put in stake.

Also it didn't have to only be a matter of secrecy – he could be scarred, insecure about it. Sam really hoped he didn't have a third eye. Whatever the truth was, Vera seemed to be used to it. Mike lost one of his gloves, gingerly taking her cheek into his palm, soft smile on his lips. Sam had to look away, feeling the moment belonged to them. Yet, he couldn't shake off the feeling of this being too intimate gesture for siblings – then again she wasn't his biological sister most likely. For all he knew, they could be exlovers. Which, weird. And Sam had to mentally slap himself – he had better things to think about.

"Alright," Dean decided, eying Sam to make sure he was on board with this – Sam nodded. "Plan is easy. There's no plan. We go where we think the werewolves are and cut their heads off. Or we use a fire. Whatever works at the time."

Mike grimaced, his hand falling from Vera's face, and Sam realized they quite didn't give him the talk about monsters. He might saw the creatures last night, but that gave him freaking nothing to hold on.

"Look… I know it sounds crazy," Sam begun, his mind racing, trying to come up with the easiest and fastest way to put it, "but last night you saw something out of ordinary. They were werewolves. And they are not the only monsters out there-"

" _I know,"_ he let out, somehow shakily. Sam frowned, not following. Did he do some research in his work hours or what? "I heard you."

"What do you mean you heard us?" Sam blurted out, his heart missing a beat. Why was he listening to them for so long, not coming in? They talked for _hours_. Did he even ever leave to work as Vera had claimed or he simply… hid somewhere on the fire escape? What the hell?

To shock him even more, his brother spoke up.

"Your super-hearing right? How far you were that you could listen to us?"

"Super-hearing?" Sam parroted, looking at the vigilante in awe.

The man shifted uncomfortably, taking few hesitant steps to them. Vera's expression was expectant, eyes big, hints of fear in them. Sam wasn't following.

"Pretty far. We don't have time for this."

"Like hell we don't!" Dean jerked to his feet, making his way to him, stopping only feet from the vigilante's face. "I need to know what I'm getting into when working with you," he hissed.

Vera instinctively took rapid steps to Mike's side, worried – Sam wasn't sure for whom though. Mike leaned in slightly, his shoulders tense, growing in size, his hands clenching in fists. He looked like he was about to attack. Sam sat up straighter.

"Dean…" Sam warned him. He didn't like the fact this man was apparently something… more than human, but that was exactly why he didn't want to piss him off. If he supposedly had super-hearing, he might have some other _super_ Sam missed while reading the reports and watching the videos. He could have been holding back the whole time.

Vera seemed to fear for Dean, because she touched Mike's hand lightly – he immediately relaxed; barely, but he did. He sighed.

"There are… there are things I can do…. sense better than other people. I could tell your heart was failing and you needed a transfusion," he turned rather to Sam and Sam's breath hitched at the exclaim. He could hear his heartbeat? Holy- "I heard the pulse slowing down, the muscle contracting with more effort, the amount of blood making a different noise when rushing through your veins. I could tell you were not an agent, because your heart sped up when you lied to me. I knew how far I could push without making a serious damage to your hand. Dark environment is no problem for me – that's actually one of the reasons why I prefer… working at night. I can tell the inessential additives in food, name the exact ingredient ruining the overall sensation – Vera likes to use me as a taste tester, because of it," he lightened up his explanation, but Sam was astonished all the same. That meant-

"But you're human, right?" he reassured himself and the man nodded hesitantly – Sam would like to know the reason of his reluctance, to know if it was at least a partial lie, but _he_ couldn't hear his heartbeat.

"You're one of us," he burst out, amazed. He exchanged looks with Dean and saw the spark of recognition as he understood what Sam meant. Mike frowned.

"One of who?"

"It's… hard to explain. There are certain people – most of those I knew are dead – who have abilities. I used to have dreams about what was about to come or dreams giving me clues I possibly couldn't gain anywhere else. I met a guy whose power of persuasion was indescribable, he would tell you to jump off a bridge and you would. Stuff like that. You… you have some kind of… enhanced senses?"

"I guess… how did you gain the power?"

 _Demon used to feed me on his blood._ Yeah. Sam probably should be telling him this – especially if Mike's abilities had the same source. The wheels in Sam's brain worked very hard on coming up with some less awful explanation.

Vera was watching him with thoughtful expression, eyes flickering to Dean and Mike from time to time – she felt their uneasiness. She cleared her throat.

"Look, everything I encountered before – science. I know of a man who can turn himself into a huge green monster – a good guy, really sweet – because of some experiment. A soldier with escalated healing ability and an amazing strength due to some kind of a super serum. Yesterday I would tell you there is no such a thing like psychics with the gifts of… I don't know. Whatever you want to call it. But I was listening, okay? Mike saw what you fought and I believe him. I believe you. It's just… crazy. Now, can we please focus on – I can't believe I'm saying this – on the werewolves we need to catch?"

Sam tried not to look as relieved as he felt when they changed the subject.

Mike immediately snapped up from the train of thoughts he had gotten on during her speech, turning his face to her. "What do you mean ' _we'_?"

 _Yeah, what do you mean 'we'?_ Sam wanted to ask as well. There was no way the girl was coming with them.

"Well-"

"No. Not gonna happen," Mike hissed, his tone and words sending one message very clearly – no objections permitted.

Her expression changed to hurt. "Mike!"

"He's right, Vera," Sam offered hesitantly, gaining what he thought was a grateful look from the masked man – it was hard to tell. "This is gonna be really dangerous-"

"Exactly!" she protested, turning to Dean to find some support.

Sam's brother had put some distance between the pair and him while the man had been explaining his abilities and now he seemed to be taken aback by Vera's pleading eyes. She feared for her brother or whatever; he feared for her. There was no way to satisfy them both and Sam was definitely on the vigilante's side.

To Sam's utter shock, Dean argumented with something Sam would never think of. "Hey, think about people who would be sad if you got hurt. _Killed_. Not just Mike. Your boyfriend too."

"Yeah, you should be thinking about Matt…" Mike backed up Dean immediately, somehow caustically, apparently sensing that this was the right way to make her stay back.

Huge misstep. She shot him an incredulous look.

"I _am_ thinking about him! As long as the things are out there, he's in danger. You three _yahoos_ go after some werewolves, one of you injured, another one-" Vera shut up in midsentence, her fist over her mouth. What was she about to say? "I'm coming with you. You need every help you can get. I think I can handle a hairspray, lighter and machete." Despite the strength of her voice , she made a face at the last word.

" _Vera-"_ Mike _growled_ , losing his patience, his mouth clearly showing irritation. He sounded dangerous and Sam reconsidered his opinion about him being entirely human.

She dug her index finger into his chest, chin rising in challenge. "End of discussion. Either you _take me_ _with_ _you_ or I'm _following_ _you_."

" _Or_ I'll just cuff you to your bed so you can't leave this apartment!"

Sam and Dean watched their exchange, bewildered, too taken aback and honestly scared to interrupt, despite the clock ticking. To their surprise, Vera smirked, patting Mike's chest patronizingly.

"Careful, Mike. Your kinks are showing… Let's go."

The only comeback she got was three men gaping, unable to let out a single word.

All of them were coming, just like that. Dean obviously wasn't exactly thrilled about it, Sam didn't like it (but deep down, he was glad for another person going with them, because every move hurt like a bitch despite the painkillers) and Mike _hated_ it. Sam wondered how it happened that Vera was coming with them, since all of them were against it. She herself appeared to be… scared shitless. Not that she would admit that.

Dean parked the car at the same spot as the last time; despite that, this situation felt completely different. There were four people tonight – one of them barely moving, two of them absolutely inexperienced. Dean gave them all a lighter; they had only two machetes though. Since Sam would probably tore all of his stitches when making a swing with the blade, he settled for the fire only, just like Vera, who was frowning, but had no reasonable argument for her being the one to have this weapon on her instead of the remaining two members of their disparate _team_. She refused to take a knife or a gun to feel safer – she claimed that she would probably hit everyone but the monster. No one argued with that one.

The light was poor – street lamps were too distant and the moon was mostly hidden behind the dark clouds. In summary, Sam could see one big shit, catching a movement of his accompanies mainly due to their own flashlights. Sam felt a little silly with hairspray and lighter in one hand, flashlight in the other, but hey, at least he wasn't lying down. Sam was at his brother's side – him, he could easily identify due to the heavy footsteps; Vera's were a little lighter, slower, hesitant (Mike had tried to convince her to stay in the car, probably seeing her face being white as sheet of paper – she refused with _You know what? It's never save in the car!_ ), while for Mike he had to check every other minute to make sure he was with them – all in black, gait inaudible, no flashlight, claiming he didn't need one. Creepy.

With each building they entered, finding nothing, Sam's throat was getting tighter.

What if they were late? What if the werewolves were already hunting? Another bodies. Because of two stupid werewolves. _Jesus_.

"Stop," Mike whispered and Sam obediently stopped dead in his track, hearing the others doing the same. What he didn't know was _why_ – before anyone could ask, the masked man answered. "Four buildings over. Three heartbeats."

"Three?" Dean whispered back, exasperated. Sam wanted to blurt out the same – three?!

"Is any of them human?" Vera asked silently, so low Sam barely caught it.

No answer. Sam didn't know if he was more irritated by the lack of response or the fact Vera asked a very valid question _Sam_ should have think of. The silence prolonged, until Mike let out a small sound of surprise and Vera giggled. She _giggled_. What the hell?

"You shook your head, didn't you?" she hissed, giggling once more.

"Yeah. Sorry. No human." He sounded honestly ashamed as he was apologizing. Sam didn't understand what was so funny about it – an inside joke most likely.

"Lead the way, Roberts," Dean called out, beckoning his direction – Dean's movement Sam could see – he was rather close to him, and his eyes were adjusting on top of that. He wasn't sure where Dean dug up the nickname though.

It was Vera, who led the way actually, by _illuminating the path_ , walking by Mike's side.

"They just noticed us," Mike hummed and no one questioned his observation, no matter how creepy it was. Something heavy knotted Sam's stomach. There was something very wrong about this. He really, really didn't like it. Call it a hunter instinct. This night would go to shit – just like the previous one.

"The warehouse twenty feet in front of us. They are waiting – two rather in the middle, one right behind the door, on our left… there is another entrance on the right. We can split."

Sam had no idea, how the fuck Mike knew all of this, but he thought he would make quite useful hunting partner.

"I'm taking the lady. She'll be safe with me," Dean announced, not really asking. "We'll take the front."

Silence and Mike appearing on Sam's side was the only confirmation he got. Faint light from Sam flashed over Dean's and Vera's (totally ashen) face. "Good luck."

She shortly squeezed Mike's hand.

"Something happens to her, you're dead," the man hissed in Dean's direction and Sam was pretty sure his brother rolled his eyes, despite being clear Mike _meant_ _it_. Literally.

"Like my own little sister," Dean declared, keeping his voice down and started walking.

The group split, Sam vaguely aware of Mike being behind him. He _was_ a freaking ninja; Sam couldn't hear a single footstep. When they reached the door, Sam moved the flashlight to his teeth and raised his hand, showing three fingers, hoping Mike would see them since he claimed he was alright in the dark.

3, 2, 1.


	8. Rule 8

**8\. Don't die (it tends to make people sad)**

Mike kicked out the same time Sam did, the door flying open with a loud crack, echoing in the wide empty space. Only second later the same noise sounded on their left – Dean came in too. Sam's flashlight faintly illuminated the creature – it was indeed in the middle – alone.

Sam quickly turned his head around, looking for the other werewolves – before he could have done it, strong hand pulled him down by his bicep, making him crouch. He felt the air shifting as the claws swung right above his head. He didn't bother with _thank you_ , aiming and lighting up the werewolf's leg with fire – it roared in pain, pacing away. He stood up straighter, his head spinning lightly as he felt the skin on his abdomen tugging. He pulled a stich already. _Great_.

He followed the creature, having only vague idea of its position. His light was weak and his eyes were slightly blinded by the flames he created earlier. He also wasn't aware of Mike's figure being behind him anymore.

"Sam, duck!" a voice shouted after him and he instinctively did so, feeling the claws missing him only by inches once more. He fucking owned Mike million times by now. How was he paying attention to Sam's surroundings better than Sam did? _Focus._

On his right. The werewolf was _on his right._ He burned it once again, this time following it immediately, lightening up the whole room with his fire, aiming higher, moving from top to ground, inhuman howl deafening in his ears, terrible heat and smell of burned flash surrounding him. The creature made another lunge towards him and he jumped back, dropping the flashlight in the process as painful hiss escaped his lips. That was like five pulled stitches, _fuck_. Another agonized howl, more like a whine, and the burning figure fell to the ground, lump of flesh barely moving, before the fire died.

Sam's light died as well and blinded by the flames, he only could see pitch black, holding the lighter and spray high in case he needed to use it in matter of seconds. Somewhere in front of him, he heard heavy _thud_ and clanking of a machete hitting the ground. Hiss of pain and another thud. All alarm bells in his head set off, screaming. _Not good, not good, not good._

The room got illuminated once more from his left, Vera apparently using her weapon the very right way – her _you're welcome_ drowned out in the deafening roar of the dying werewolf. Sam snapped his head in the direction, seeing the body falling down, then immediately finding the source of the previous sounds – only few feet in front of him.

And _fucking shit._

He guessed the first _thud_ was the werewolf Mike managed to decapitate. The other one was the man himself though. In the short moment Sam could see him, his figure was lying next to creature, silent gapes, hand on his chest. Not good. Very, very, _very_ bad. Sam sprung in his direction, going in blind after few seconds – the other fire died out.

"Everyone okay?" Dean yelled in their general direction and a flashlight ran over the whole room, finding them in the middle, stopping its search there.

"I need some light here!" Sam shouted back, eyes squinting, kneeling at the gasping figure – as the roar of Dean's werewolf fell silent, Sam could hear the furious attempts to gain some oxygen. Vainly.

 _Jesus Christ._ Mike couldn't _breathe_.

"Mike!" The terrified scream hurt Sam's ears, echoing in his skull and Vera's flashlight illuminated Mike's half face, quickly moving down his body, freezing on the huge dark stain, place where the undershirt was torn. "Ježiši Kriste."

Vera fell to her knees, opposite to Sam, her hands shooting to Mike's chest, dropping her flashlight. The horrifying thing what happened was that for a split second, the short moment his half-face was visible, it seemed like a ghost of smile appeared on the man's lips.

"-ra," he choked out, weird bubbling sound escaping from his mouth right afterwards and Sam fought a wave of nausea. Blood. He was _choking on blood._ _Holy fucking shit._ Sam's hands covered Mike's torso as well, but he had no freaking idea what he was doing and he couldn't see jack shit.

"Dean! We would really appreciate some light here!" Sam yelled over his shoulder, unsure where his brother had gone. And all of sudden he had to squint as a surprisingly sharp light flared the room. Dean must have found the main switch to the building.

Sam looked back to the masked man, something punching his gut hard. Now, when they had the lights finally on, Sam wished they rather didn't. The picture of his own brother, his chest torn and bloody, dead eyes watching him, flickered in his mind. He shook off the memory quickly.

"Come on, tell me where the air is coming in dammit!" Vera pleaded Mike, pressing to different areas, blood _pouring_ from under her fingers. What the hell was she talking about? Sam kept his hands where he thought the bleeding was the worst. _"Mike!"_

It wasn't pleading anymore. She was sobbing. Weak and desperate, yet somehow determined. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the pain in her voice hit him. He didn't know what was worse – her tone or Mike's gapes, weakening with each try. He pressed harder.

"Call 911," she blurted out, snapping her head to Sam. He shot her a shocked look. "DO IT! I don't fucking care about his identity or anything, I don't care-"

Sam got the memo and pulled out his phone from his pocket – no signal. He cursed, showing her the phone.

"Then go find some!"

Strong fingers gripped his forearm before he could jerk to his feet – Mike was shaking his head slowly. Sam didn't get up, eyeing Vera hesitantly. The grab on him loosened in favour to touch Vera's hand. She sobbed hysterically.

"Pitomče. You don't get to choose _this_. Sam, go!"

Mike slightly turned his head to her. "-ve –u." And it was here again, the hint of a smile, before another portion of red liquid spilled from his mouth. His body went limp. Sam squeezed his eyes shut.

There was no point in calling an ambulance. They would never make it in here time to make this right. _This_. Sam and Dean dragged them into _this_. _This_ _was their fault._ Somehow he couldn't feel the pain he had felt throbbing through his cuts before.

"No, no, _no, no, no, no_ … _Please_."

Her desperate voice made Sam want to cover his ears; her tone was piercing sharp needles to his heart and suffocated him from inside. She sounded _so broken_.

Sam retreated his hands from the Devil's bloody chest, giving up – he wasn't breathing anymore and wasn't even trying and Sam was sure he wouldn't feel any pulse if he placed his fingers on his neck. But Vera shook her head stubbornly and her hands, stopping the bleeding before, filling the slits in his chest and _lungs_ , leaned Mike's head backwards and she breathed into his mouth five times. She quickly let go and moved to his sternum, compressing in periodical motion. Two breaths and repeat.

Sam's memory of holding Dean in his arms was stinging, burning in his chest, still too raw. He knew Dean was already with them, watching, painful expression on his own. He had lost his brother before too – he could feel her grief. He remembered it probably too vividly as well.

Sam was helpless, unsure what to do with Vera. She was only torturing herself – there was no more hope. He carefully covered her hands with his. "Vera-"

"NO! Krucinál dejchej! Doprdele _tak dejchej!"_ she yelled the words he didn't understand at the unmoving figure, her voice breaking several times, sobs interrupting her outburst, cheeks wet from crying. She took a deep breath, shook off Sam's palm and took Mike's jaw, filling his lungs with oxygen once more. His chest barely raised, very unhealthy sound of fizzing reaching Sam's ears.

Vera didn't register the quiet rusting of wings, but Sam's head snapped up as Castiel appeared behind her back.

"Cas!" Both brothers let out in shock, tiny spark of hope flickering.

The angel placed his hand on her shoulder – she didn't realize it couldn't have been Dean who was standing steps away, she wasn't looking anywhere but at the man who was no longer fighting for his life. She shook it off too.

"No! I won't give up on him dammit!"

"Uklidni se, dítě. Můžu mu pomoci," Castiel spoke in soothing voice and she winced, snapping her head to him, freezing. Sam understood – a stranger appeared behind her out of thin air, speaking in tongues (and it didn't even sound like enochian, what the hell, it sounded…weird), touching her. He would be shocked too.

"Kdo-"

"Jsem boží anděl," he interrupted her and Sam finally realized he had to be talking to her in her mother tongue. Not Russian though…

She remained silent, observing him cautiously as he squatted next to her, applying two fingers lightly on Mike's neck.

Furious gasp echoed in the room and Sam sighed in relief, smiling as Vera jolted away, muffling her scream with her hand, still stained with blood. Mike's chest was raising violently, his hands going over his body, stopping at his no longer existing wounds. "What-"

Vera was staring at Castiel with her eyes filled with horror and disbelief, gradually replaced by awe and reverential gratitude. Her hand fell, leaving a bloody mark on her chin and cheeks.

"Vera?" Mike's voice addressed her, filled with countless emotions, and she spun her head back to him, lips parting as if she couldn't believe what just happened. Sam didn't blame her.

Dean approached Castiel, patting his shoulder. " _Dude_. You have a thing for dramatic entrances, don't you? Thanks, Cas."

Mike slowly sat up, supporting himself onto one hand, another one losing his glove, touching Vera's cheek (apparently, it was their thing). She breathed out shakily and jumped around his neck, almost knocking him over. She sobbed to his shoulder, squeezing tightly and he gently returned her affection.

"I'm okay. I'm okay, _sweetheart_ ," he whispered to her hair, placing a small kiss there, hand stroking her back in comforting gesture.

Sam tore his eyes away, feeling the privacy, the _intimacy_ of the moment. Castiel stood up and Sam followed his example slowly, circling the pair to approach the angel, who quickly brushed his arm, the tension and throbbing in his abdomen disappearing. Before he could thank him, Castiel spoke up.

"I couldn't let him die. He helped you when I wasn't available. And God still has big plans for Matthew Michael Murdock," he announced solemnly and Sam gasped as every piece of puzzle fell into place.

Their protectiveness over each other. The… _possessiveness_. Their unlikely family-not-family relationship. Their intimacy. The fact Matt and Mike apparently didn't mind each other. Her _boyfriend_ was her _not exactly brother_. And it made so much more sense now. Except… was he faking blindness? He wouldn't – he couldn't right? He remembered some hints now. ' _Dark environment is no problem for me - that's actually one of the reasons why I prefer… working at night.'_ ' _You just shook you head, didn't you?' The giggling._ It was like he was blind for real… Come again?!

" _Matthew_ _Michael_ _Murdock_?" Dean parroted sceptically and Castiel nodded.

"Sure. Blinded at age nine, losing his father shortly after that. Gaining enhanced senses in return. Raised by Lord's servants in a convent, trained as a child to become a member of The Chaste. Abandoned by his master. Finding his own path, becoming a lawyer, protecting people in need, fighting for justice with the help of the law an outside of it as well."

Sam's gaze flickered to Mike – no, Matthew, his name was _Matthew_ – in disbelief. And yeah, his mouth was… _wedged_ in Vera's, so Sam quickly looked away, slightly traumatized. _The man who is something like her brother_ , yeah, sure.

He realized Matthew probably wouldn't be able to see much in the mask even if he had a sight – Sam should have put two and two together, dammit.

"Whoa, whoa. Wait. Are you telling me _this_ guy is blind? _Son of a bitch_. How is he even— how is that possible?" Dean demanded, watching the vigilante incredulously, not bothered by the fact he was sharing a rather intimate moment with his girlfriend. Dean actually tilted his head (and it was totally Castiel's fault he had learned that gesture), looking like he was examining his technique.

Dean, _gross_.

Cas shrugged. "Chemical spill. And there are other ways to see. I should go."

"Wait!" Vera cried out, her mouth not busy anymore, and she sprung to her feet, taking a step closer to them. Then, without any warning, she threw her arms around the angel, colliding with his body hard. Luckily for him, he was like a stone and didn't even stumble backwards – Sam was sure he would if he was an ordinary human. Sam thought he heard the girl hiss in pain at their contact.

Castiel blinked in surprise, absolutely taken aback, uncertain what to do. Dean snorted and Sam bit his lip, gesturing to Cas so he would hug her in return. He hesitantly lifted his arms too, patting her back.

"Děkuju," she whispered above his shoulder and Sam would swear he saw a hint of a smile on the angel's face.

"Jistě… jistě, samozřejmě. Matthew je dobrý muž. Zaslouží si žít. Je výtvorem božím stejně jako ty nebo já."

She jumped away from him, suddenly embarrassed. What the hell did he tell her? Judging by the Devil's expression, he had no idea either and he only heard his own name. And it leaped Sam to his eyes that he didn't wear his mask anymore – ruffled hair, slightly baffled expression, unfocused brown eyes somehow _observing_ the scene in front of him thanks to his remaining four senses or whatever, head tilting— _Jesus_ , it was infectious.

"Oh my god. Is that offensive? Is it like forbidden to hug an angel? A deadly sin? Jesus Chri— sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean to use Lord's name in vain! Twice! Oh my-" she covered her mouth, falling silent and Dean laughed out loud, Sam barely keeping his own laugh in.

Vera was hugged from behind, Matthew's arm wrapping around her waist, whispering something to her ear. She nodded. They both kneeled, eyes closed, each clasping their hands together, murmuring their prayers – his was much longer then hers and Sam wondered whether he was a believer and she wasn't, making an exception this once. If there was any moment to make an exception, it was this one with no doubt.

Dean watched them with wide eyes and Castiel approached them, smiling kindly. He drew a small cross on Vera's forehead and her eyelashes fluttered, eyes opening. She didn't raise her gaze, but the remaining blood from her hands and jaw disappeared. When Cas did the same for Matthew, Sam saw few solitude tears rolling down the man's cheeks, his lips parting, letting out a shaky exhale.

Sam was absolutely fascinated – he was a believer long before he had discovered angels were a thing, but the amount of religious trust in Matthew's blind eyes, observing Castiel when he tucked his hand under his chin and made him to look up, took his breath away.

"Like I said to your beloved. You're a good man who deserves to live, _Matthew Michael_. You're living up to your name. God loves you just like all his children, _never doubt that,"_ the angel offered graciously and fresh tears found their way to the vigilante's cheeks. Bending his head down when he lost the touch, he whispered another prayer. Vera was smiling to the floor somewhat contentedly.

"I'm needed elsewhere. Sam," he nodded at him as a goodbye and Sam, still in awe returned the gesture, " _Dean_." He touched his shoulder, smiled and with a rustle of wings, he was gone.

" _That_ was weird," Dean exclaimed, breaking the sacred moment and the kneeling lovers stood up slowly, Matthew blinking his tears away. Vera said something too quiet for Sam to hear, but timid smile played on the man's lips, so apparently it was only meant for him. "Heading out? Let's just burn this mess and have a burger. I could eat like three burgers right now."

Sam rolled his eyes and got to work. Vera and Matthew stood there in silence, holding hands, not getting in the way of Sam's and Dean's routine. Sam wondered what Castiel meant by him _living up his name_ and for some reason doubted he was talking about _the Devil_ one. He promised himself to look it up later. (He wasn't disappointed when he found out 'Matthew' meant _gift of God_ and 'Michael' meant _who is like God_.)

After burning any possible traces, they left to Vera's apartment, ordering a solid amount of junky food – mostly for Dean. The delivery boy seemed to be taken aback and so scared when Sam opened the door that he didn't even ask for a tip. Sam didn't forced him into accepting one, bringing the food in. They freaking deserved it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Translations:

" _Krucinál dejchej! Doprdele tak dejchej!" – "Shit, breathe! Fuck, breathe again!"_

" _Uklidni se, dítě. Můžu mu pomoci." – "Calm down, child. I can help him."_

" _Kdo-" – "Who-"_

" _Jsem boží anděl." – "I'm the angel of the Lord."_

" _Děkuju." – "Thank you."_

" _Jistě… jistě, samozřejmě. Matthew je dobrý muž. Zaslouží si žít. Je výtvorem božím stejně jako ty nebo já." – "Sure… sure, of course. Matthew is a good man. He deserves to live. He's God's creation just like you and me."_


	9. Rule 9

**9\. Don't you forget about me (I'm worth remembering)**

They stayed long after they finished their food – well, most of them anyway. Dean and Sam took one armchair each, while Vera was snuggled to Matt (and it was Matt, not _Matthew_ , he was only called that when being in church), refusing to leave his side even for a second – he would move, she would follow, afraid of losing the touch. Sam couldn't tell he blamed her; she had gotten her boyfriend pretty much _resurrected_ about two hours ago, she was entitled to be clingy.

Matt didn't bother with putting his mask on again. His unseeing eyes were a little unnerving at first, but Sam got used to it after a while. Matt answered few of their questions, explaining his _thing_ to them in as plain English as he managed. Sam could tell he was rather hesitant to do so, but he was kinda awestruck by the fact he was touched by an angel, saved by a celestial being, so he wasn't too much for protesting at the moment. Despite the man's best efforts, Sam still couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. It was just unimaginable. But Sam doubted it would get better with any more profound explanation, he would have to live it to understand. So he gave up.

"Sorry to ask," he said for a millionth time that evening, turning rather to Vera (not that it made any difference, considering their proximity), "but I can't get the idea out of my head – what was the woman saying about a blood on your wall this morning?"

And really, this morning? It felt like eternity since that…

Vera seemed almost timid about her answer, while Matt tensed.

"It's…uhm. You know about my kidnapping, right?" Nod. "Yeah, so apparently when I disappeared and didn't come to work, my friend came looking for me, Nina let her in and apart from my stuff – like important stuff I wouldn't leave here if I headed anywhere – there was a bloody smudge on the wall waiting for them...?"

"Ouch," Sam felt her and quickly scanned the room to find any residues of it – there were none.

"Yeah, something like that… can I ask _you_ something now?"

Sam shrugged, certain there was nothing she could possibly want to know he wouldn't be keen on telling her. God knew they had revealed most of their secrets already – including the story of their dad.

"Where the hell are you taking money for doing what you do?" she blurted out, somehow managing to catch Sam off guard. Huh. What the hell he should say?

"Lots of credit cards under different names for one," Dean hummed, apparently finishing his third burger. Sam threw his hand in the air, gesturing towards the lawyer sitting on the couch. "What?"

Matt understood Sam's reaction. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that in favour of keeping the world rather free of supernatural beings. Your secret is safe with me, client's privilege," he offered graciously and Sam relaxed. Of course he wouldn't turn them in. Sam didn't really believe he would, but hey, better safe than sorry.

"And what's the real name?" Vera wondered, eyeing rather Dean than Sam since he was the chatty one.

"Winchester. Sam and Dean Winchester, the real-life ghostbusters…"

Vera's lips spread in satisfied smile. "So, when I have a monster problem… I guess I know who I'm gonna call."

Dean grinned, Sam couldn't keep help one corner of his lips rising as well and Matt placed a small kiss to her hair, pulling her closer to his side.

"So, what happens now? You just… leave, looking for another unusual crime?" Vera wanted to know as the brothers get from their asses, ready to head out. They wanted to sleep in their motel. It wasn't that Vera's couch was uncomfortable, Dean would sure handle another night of sit-sleeping, but Sam felt like an intruder. The pair sure had things to… talk about if anything. And he could appreciate some privacy as well.

"Pretty much, yeah," Sam confirmed, shrugging, not quite feeling like leaving for real just yet.

"Alright then…" she walked to Dean, taking all of her accompanies by surprise. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked Sam's brother conspiratorially, smiling mischievously.

Dean raised one eyebrow, quickly hiding his bewilderedness behind a mask of confidence. "Sure."

"David Mason is a douchebag… but I kinda like Dean Winchester." Vera leaned to his side, slightly stepping on her toes and kissed him on his cheeks. This time, Dean couldn't keep his expression controlled, his eyes wide as she withdrew. _Oh god,_ his face was priceless.

Vera took several steps to Sam, her own cheeks flushed. "You remind me of my brother…uhm, the biological one. Real one. He's huge too… actually I think he's got like 5 centimetres over. And he gives the best bear hugs."

Sam chuckled, hoping he took the hint right, offering his embrace – she slid in, letting his arms hug her carefully.

"I can try," Sam chuckled once more and she squeezed him tighter.

"You're very good at it. Thanks. Take care." She retreated, expression solemn. "Seriously, _take care of yourself._ "

"We always do. I watch my sister's back," Dean reassured her, patting Sam's back indeed. Sam rolled his eyes, sighing. And it was such a nice moment…

"Jerk."

Sam noticed Vera watched them with a kind smile as Dean shot his typical response in no time.

"Bitch."

 _\- Vera's POV_

The door shut behind them and she finally breathed in properly, feeling the ghost (ha!) of something heavy hanging in the air before (no matter how casually they had talked) disappear. She walked back to her living room, leaning onto the couch backrest from behind. Matt stood by the window, looking out despite not being able to actually see anything, arm crossed on his chest.

Vera still couldn't believe what happened in last 24 hours. So much. _Jesus Christ_ , so much. Monsters. Hunters. Angels. Matt had almost _died_ and had been saved by _an actual angel_. Who was _not_ a dick, by the way.

It was _crazy_. She wouldn't mind slowing down a little.

She kept observing her boyfriend, the Devil's outfit tight, undershirt still torn, no mask, his hair a complete mess. Small smile appeared on his lips.

"What?"

"The song they are playing. It's… Highway to Hell."

She laughed, and walked to the counter, kissing his temple on her way. He brushed his hand against hers, letting her pass.

Vera was putting the kettle on when she froze, darkness covering her vision, her knees suddenly weak. She had to steady herself against the counter, regaining her balance.

What— what was she doing?

The kettle clicked and she realized she was making tea. But there was something… she couldn't shake off the weird sensation. _Something_ was missing. What was it? She wanted to do something else. She spun to Matt, who was leaning onto a wall next to a window casually, his favourite spot for his late-night visits.

"You okay?" he worried, sensing her uneasiness and made his way to her.

She shook her head and realized only then he could take it as an answer while she was simply shaking off her thoughts. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Anything important on your patrol?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Just… I feel like I forgot about something important I wanted to do or did."

Her heart hammered in her chest as he voiced what she was thinking about. She subconsciously traced her fingers over his chest, drawing straight lines with her fingertips. Matt tilted his head at her gesture, questioning. _Why did she do that?_ It felt like a reflex.

It was such a weird evening. She was in a strange mood; she needed to snap from it.

She smiled at Matt reassuringly, placing her palm over his heart. It was a great sound. Strong. Vivid. "Well, I can think of one thing you forgot," she offered and leaned closer to him, face inches from his.

His lips twitched and he chuckled. "Sure, that's it." He crossed the short distance and met her lips tenderly, wiping away all her worries.


	10. One extra Rule

**+1: Don't fool yourself thinking you have a choice (there is something bigger than you)**

 _In the window, there was a sitting figure no one could see, observing the unlikely pair, half amused, half worried. He was smiling mischievously, dim light reflecting in his whiskey-coloured eyes and drawing golden strands in his longish hair. They said about him he could create things out of thin air, that he was enjoying himself while killing people using a slightly twisted irony to do so. They called his kind the Tricksters._

 _He was around the whole time, even since they had brought Sammish in, bleeding to death and he had watched the young woman offer her blood to a stranger in need, despite her blind boyfriend – running around in a ridiculous black costume, beating up criminals, who the hell did that anyway – protesting. The trickster had followed them to the warehouse, seeing the man almost die, disappearing when he had sensed his wayward brother arriving. Apparently, he had saved the day. Yeah, that was Castiel. He liked him, but his baby bro was so naïve… which was why he would never let Cas meet him, no matter how brilliant he considered himself, knowing the meeting would sure enriched the baby in the trenchcoat._

 _His favourite boys had left town and this pair of humans stayed behind with nothing but confusing memories, which would make them question everything they knew, no doubt causing them countless nightmares. What else he should have done?_

 _He snapped his fingers once, scary pictures leaving their minds forever, repairing what needed to be repaired, slightly alternating the nurse's memory as well. He snapped them for the second time, creating false memories of ordinary days (as ordinary as it could have been for people like these two dummies and their accompanies), wiping away any evidences of the bizarre meeting. He tilted his head when the girl ran her fingers over the wound the man once had had despite his efforts to wipe the memory away. Damn. He was getting rusty. But she obviously chased away the last fragments of reality (and honestly, what was reality?) by herself. He smiled contentedly. Some things better remained hidden. Like him and his true nature. Or them._

 _He snapped his fingers for the third time, leaving invisible sigils which would hide them from angels on their ribs, carving a small antipossession symbol into their collarbones as well. There. Much better._

 _He snapped for the fourth time and he was gone._

 _Hell's Kitchen sure was an interesting place, few promising talents blossoming. He snapped his fingers for the fifth time, few sparks falling down on the city, just drops of power helping the seeds of extraordinariness to sprout faster. He grinned as the receivers shivered and then he vanished, leaving the whole non-existent story behind._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-  
Notes:  
Uhm. Alright. I'm not sure what that was, but apparently I have a thing for crossovers. And I couldn't resist. Gabriel (the Trickster, the archangel) was a perfect puzzle piece, because with his involvement, we can pretend nothing happened. Ha!

Any feedback is appreciated. Thanks!


End file.
